By the railroad tracks lies a blueberry and blackberry farm. While we picked this morning a passenger train, then a carrier train whizzed by the berry fields. How awful to be riding the train and see the plump ripe berries hanging on those vines and bushes and not be able to immediately plop one in the mouth.
The skies were blue, our teeth were blue, and our fingers were purple.
But nothing could be finer than to be in those fields this summer morning.