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After The Burial

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After The Burial

Drifts

Oh, so fucking cold.
The winds, the drifts of winter,
bonechilling nightfall.

Early evening sundowns make nights seem more like Borealis dreams.

My roots run deep, through veins, my ancestry. Everything I know, in body and soul...

...Lakeland

Look to the river rushing, unparalleled it's power. It carves away at the land. Eroding the banks, consuming the sands and washes away to her Majesty.

They say, there's no other place like home, and they said it best. I've realized what this place means to me, Lakeland. I can see my reflection in the land, I see my form. And I know the land reflects in my self. It reflects in my self.