Growing up in the sticks, nature was never very far
A forest behind the house, a creek winding through the yard.
It wasn't a place I had to go to, it was a place that I was from,
on the sunny side of a valley with fresh made air inside the lungs,
and water filtered by the reddest clay you've ever seen,
the kind that makes hell for the washing machine.
While I was often found more focused on a screen,
I was always peeking out the window to take in a little green.
And when it found a way though clouds, I'd chase a little sun
summer parties full of trampolines and squirt guns.
I can visit to the city for the bustle of the boulevard,
but if it's up to me I'll plant my roots out where the trees are.