Raspberries
Creeping on our way, delicately passing through the overgrown bushes we forced onward. Our feet were barely covered with thin cloth shoes and the thorns made their cruel presence known. Stepping down I felt nature connecting itself to me as the vines and branches clung tightly to my skin and clothing. Pulling free I felt the branches snap against me and their thorns dig deep and scratch across my skin. Thin, broken red lines emerged like frantic brush strokes on my pale, canvas-toned skin. The green leaves crunched and swayed up against my shirt leaving purple-red splotches as proof of their short-lived visits. Clutching the cold metal handle of a mixing bowl, the jewel-like berries began to overflow and weigh down my hand. Our fingers grew sticky as we reached further and further into the tumbled mess of undergrowth. The grass had been freshly mowed and fragments of its summer-green blades clung to our treasure and contrasted sharply with its warm tones. Our feet slipped and dug in as the moss and rotting wood beneath us gave way to our pursuits. Reaching across the barbs we laughed and fed each other freshly plucked blackberries and untangled one another from nature’s grasp. The sky slowly faded and gray-blue hues highlighted our surroundings. Glancing upward we climbed back slowly, dodging in and out of the branches. Arms linked and buckets balanced on our heads we made our way up the hill, grateful for level ground.