I am from the northwoods.

The black river runs through my blood,

towering red pine and spruce take root in my bones.

The cool air flows through my lungs like a fresh flowing stream.

I am from the wildlife.

The bald eagles soaring through my head, a symbol of freedom;

yellow finch and chickadees chirping a constant song in my ears.

While deer gracefully prance past my feet, their whitetails leaping through the meadow.

I am from the elements.

The snow piling higher than my fingertips can reach;

autumn leaves brushing past my face and crunching with each step.

Spring wildflowers catch my eye, their vibrant colors popping through the dark earth.

I am from our creations.

The four wheeler paths ingrained in my mind as a map,

piles of chopped wood standing high to help us survive the winters.

Hunting stands blending in with camouflage, not seen by an unaware hiker.

I am from the night.

The Milky Way sparkles like glitter,

flying squirrels and bats race past me, as if I am not there.

Owls make conversation, as their talons clutch to the branches.

I am from the day.

The turkeys flapping down from their roost,

sand squishing through my toes, heated as hot as fire.

The breeze whispering through the trees as the forrest shares its secrets.

I am from the northwoods.

The wild child lives inside me,

dirt inhabiting a home under my fingernails

and adventuring into the unknown is my life.