William Wordsworth - Where I come from lyrics

People are made of places. They carry with them hints of jungles or mountains, a tropic grace or the cool eyes of sea-gazers. Atmosphere of cities how different drops from them, like the smell of smog or the almost-not-smell of tulips in the spring, nature tidily plotted in little squares with a fountain in the centre; museum smell, art also tidily plotted with a guidebook; or the smell of work, glue factories maybe, chromium-plated offices; smell of subways crowded at rush hours. Where I come from, people carry woods in their minds, acres of pine woods; blueberry patches in the burned-out bush; wooden farmhouses, old, in need of paint, with yards where hens and chickens circle about, clucking aimlessly; battered schoolhouses behind which violets grow. Spring and winter are the mind's chief seasons: ice and the breaking of ice. A door in the mind blows open , and there blows a frosty wind from fields of snow.