Walking footsteps I have walked before
Treading the verge of memory and here
Is where I am remade, healed, rested
Maybe it's the feeling of being wrapped 
Within, or maybe it's the strength in the
Ruggedness of the country that taps into
Deep wells of knowing the mettle we are 
Made from, small and fragile, yet it is 
Something more within the veil of our
Deeper self from each thing that pushes
Hemming us in, molding us constantly
If we but submit to the push and pull
Not drawing away, straining forward 
Through it all because we know these
Are the hands of live that make us