I Am From -- Draft 1

I am from the pumpkin patch at the Strawberry Hallow Farm in the cool autumn air.

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I am from the broken english of my grandparents' accent.

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I am from the racing tires of endless fun on rainy days 

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I am from the smell of gasoline in the salty ocean air

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I am from the sound of cold ocean waves pounding against weathered rocks

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I am from exploring the world and taking risks.

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I Am From -- Draft 2

I am from the bright orange and the deep, leafy green of the patch at the Strawberry Hallow Farm, cool autumn air rustling through the dull, crinkled leaves crunching with every step.

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I am from the thick guttural rasp of my grandfather’s voice masked by white whiskers, and the soft spoken spanglish of my grandmother’s broken accent. 

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I am from the sound of cold ocean waves pounding against weathered rocks, salty ocean spray in the air, and the gentle creak of a hammock swaying back and forth as patches of light seep through the sturdy branches softly warming my skin.

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I am from Oops, because its my mother’s favorite word, where making mistakes is the best way to learn.

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I am from the racing tires of endless fun on rainy days, from toy tracks, legos, and imaginary lands, where the sky is the limit. 

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I am from the smell of charred wood after a roaring fire, from the radiating heat of the glowing coals on a cold winter night, snuggled up in a fuzzy blanket, with the beat of a small heart in my lap.

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I am from exploring the world and taking risks

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I am from the patch at the Strawberry Hallow Farm, cool autumn air rustling through the dull, crinkled leaves crunching with every step.

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I Am From -- Final Draft

I am from the bright orange and the deep, leafy green of the patch at the Strawberry Hallow Farm, cool autumn air rustling through the dull, crinkled leaves crunching with every step.

 

I am from the thick guttural rasp of my grandfather’s voice masked by white whiskers, and the soft spoken spanglish of my grandmother’s broken accent. 

 

I am from the sound of cold ocean waves pounding against weathered rocks, salty ocean spray in the air, and the gentle creak of a hammock swaying back and forth as patches of light seep through the sturdy branches softly warming my skin.

 

I am from the racing tires of endless fun on rainy days, from toy tracks, legos, and imaginary lands, where the sky is the limit. 

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I am from the smell of charred wood after a roaring fire, from the radiating heat of the glowing coals on a cold winter night, snuggled up in a fuzzy blanket, with the beat of a small heart in my lap.

 

I am from the endless pinches of the Novocain needle numbing my mouth, from the hum of a metallic drill, and the screech as it scrapes against my teeth, from inexhaustible hours in a chair restoring a broken smile

 

I am from exploring the world and taking risks

 

I am from Oops, because its my mother’s favorite word, where making mistakes is the best way to learn.

 

I am from the sails of newspaper boats drifting down streams, fighting to stay afloat in the rushing water, driven by the powerful current, praying to avoid the anchored rocks looking to sink them

 

I am from all these memories and many more...

I am from the patch at the Strawberry Hallow Farm, cool autumn air rustling through the dull, crinkled leaves crunching with every step.