Over the high walls of the berry fields I hear the mothers laughing,
catching up on recipes and birthdays, men and music.
Their children giggle and hide within ear shot,
eating with blue stained fingers and lips.
In ten minutes they will overheat
and cry to their mothers to take them home.
The adults slowly become parents again.
Savoring this time in the green, gently calling the others to come.
The school year is a month away, the rain a month away.
But for now there is still summer in these fields.
And promises of pies, soft midday naps, and bike rides at dusk.