The Berry Picker

Under the ripening glow of dawn
She scampers over the mash
She has been coming to this ridge for years
Since she was old enough
To toddle behind her mother (God rest her!)
And carry her own little bucket and empter
She has come for the "burries"
And everyday, until the end of October,
(Later if she could!)
This is where you'll find her
Working tirelessly,
Fingers furiously moving,
No "commercial picker" for her
"Tears up the bushes"
She'll sell her fruit by the roadside
But it's certainly not the money
That keeps her coming to the Ridge --
It does stretch the pension along --
Rather it's the peace she finds
Being close to the earth
That will bring her here
Until she returns only in memory

Michael Coady © 1993