sure, I could say this valley, this canyon, this ridge is where I am from, but what does it actually mean to be from a place? how does that place shape who you are, the way it gets into your voice, the accent, the way it gets into your eyes, the perception, and the way it gets into your head, the memory.

this is about a valley and a ridge and a creek in a canyon
rice fields and grazing cattle and orchards blossoming in spring

this is about nostalgia for a time that never existed,
and a dis(re)membering of time and place and history.

perhaps there is no message in this history, or the history itself is the message. or there is no history, no message, nothing but the oak-filled canyons and chaparral ridges of the foothills and the river valley in flood.

a changed land still changing