I am from warm summer aromas and breezes,

from homemade apples pies, sitting on the window seals

and sweet, scented strawberries in our garden.

I am from the memories of crimson, fiery

skies setting sounds of a symphony.

I am from the hill country with mesquite bar b ques, 

the enchanting roses, like the sweet taste of french vanilla drizzled on chocolate bites.

I am from the Bakers and the Crocketts,

from fishing for catfish to hiking in the neighbors' ranch.

I am from the porch swing on the back patio, gazing at the changing clouds.

From wet sandboxes where fingertips illustrated a image,

and fingertips touch rippling the ocean placid waters, now that the waves wildly dance.

I'm from the tears of my brother and mother after the police came and gone.

From the burying of my father in Fort Sam Houston,

To the moments of a scarred past,n 

Only to be left behind;

Where I was taken back to the hill country, 

Home to the mesquite bar b ques.