We skip down gravel streets,
past the laughing ferns and watercolor
creek, tinkling with morning music.
Overhead, great dark beasts arch
feathered arms like massive
mama birds protecting their flock.
They keep watch while we rescue
berries from prickles that pinch at my
sleeves, rainbows of red and blue
staining our fingers. August bursts
in my mouth and I eat the whole bucket
before we trip back home, the ferns
waving their lacy fingers goodbye.