I leave the trail
and step into
the shaded grove
of my memory
Picking wild raspberries
with my father
Filling an ice cream pail
with juicy
seedy caps
Taking only
what yields
to a gentle pull
The dark cells
crunch
more than burst
between my teeth
while mosquitoes hum
and a pheasant rooster
warns
with a hoarse cry
Later
our harvest is
boiled down
to preserve
purple
summer
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