The joy of my youth was picking berries.
Summer brought strawberries, blueberries, raspberries.
The fields around my house were abundant.
The overgrown fields of my youth
When dew left the grass,
I grabbed a glass,
Ran out the door.
Ran to the fields.
Not to pick fast,
but to savor each moment.
To dream of days when
childhood surrendered to age
and berry patches bowed
to the woman I would become.
