My roots

I am from hands slicing through water, pushing further and further, feet kicking, lungs pumping, going further and further to the finish line.

I am from the little girl dancing in the back yard swamps, picking the low bush cranberries one by one each time more and more my taste buds exploding.

I am from the marsh that squishes in my toes, the smell of the swamps filling my nose so fresh and pure filled with time and history.

I am from hearing the skimming of a blade going through fresh wood in the early morning.

A step outside is the moment where I take in the sawdust, rain falls soaking it up and renewing its smell ten times stronger from dry to wet.

I am from kissing a cheek that came from the fresh air, cold, salty and fresh.

I am from the Alaskan mountains that erode lower and lower.

I am from the Alaskan salty ocean cold and fresh and natural.

I am from the Alaskan land big and bulky fresh and smooth.

I am from Alaska

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