Going

We went to pick blueberries last Thursday. The heat was pleasant on my back. My hands collected through the bushes and I left this place. My hands became the hands of my father harvesting grapes in the California harvest. The noise of chitter chatter came to my ears as I heard the women and men talking about life and laughing. The visions of fields overwhelmed my senses. My back arched in unison with multiple movements of the workers. I was there were many of us begin. Then I traveled to lands of far and picked fresh vegetables along with many other hands to then place then into a large basket on my head. To then walk in front of my shadow as the sun poured on me as I took my finds to the kitchen for a meal. The sound then faded with the giggles of my girls discovering. How much I have to teach them. Someday my loves we we will live in a place where our hands toil in the dirt and carry its its spirit. That we may also toil not to work but as a lifestyle. Were we will again establish our close bond to this earth and it with us. That we may continue to be intrigued by wheat as we learn of its life, and that may you continue to want to touch it. Be patient for with the sweated brow of your father and I we are on our way.