Nearly all people used to be made up of the sunlight that shone on the plants living in the dirt and drinking the water of the place they were born. I’m made of sun and dirt from everyplace but the place I was born. My water, though processed from its source, is from close by. I don’t know what that means for me – if it means anything. It feels important. Though I don’t know exactly how. Somehow, it matters to me that I am made of dust from Florida, and France, and Greece, and wherever else my food has grown. I suspect most people in America are mostly made mostly of Iowa. I wonder if it changes how they feel. I am conscious mass and energy made of dirt, and sunlight, and water. Why shouldn’t the flavor of the places the sun has shone affect who I am when I consume them?