I am from 40-blow cold, white birch trees and a fall October breeze.
I am from the icy cold burning sensation upon my finger tips. Brrrr!
I am from the pole of the North, going back and forth, between here, there and every which way. From candy canes and white snow ice and sugar and spice.
From crying children, from nothing nice, from touching the burner not once but rather twice. Sometimes it takes the second time, doing wrong to know it really hurts.
I am from all over, from the sizzling hot strings of my fiddle, to the sound of ice-skates cutting through fresh ice, to the random pull of a Yahtzee dice.
I am from the East, the West and gaw dawn. I sure try-n-be my best!