I pressed my bare feet into the clay by the swamp, to show them my size. I ate black raspberries at the edge of the thick woods as I climbed the long hills. I raised my arms like a hawk, walking the top of the granite outcropping. The lake spread out below me, and I screamed loud into the air, because I was here, with my staff, and I was young, not afraid of wolf or bear then, claiming this land as my own territory.
The hills heard me and echoed my cry. We shouted back and forth awhile and later I returned to my boat and then my camp on the other side. On the way I caught two mighty lake trout, and we feasted.
I drew my fish and our hunts with flint on the soft rocks past the meadow with the spongy moss. I left myself there so the people would know.
I was here. Things happened and I saw them. This is what I did. This is who I was.