Picking Strawberries

Becky paused for a minute longer, still rubbing her back. The green rows of strawberries stretched down the hill, were separated by a dirt road from another field of berries, and then blended together in the distance to meet the dark green of the trees. The soft gray of the sky lay above the green and brown of the trees.

The rain drifting from the sky was a mist, really. Like a light cloud falling all around her. On the horizon it turned into fog. The fog wrapped itself around the fields and woods and closed off the rest of the world.

Her hand dropped from her back. She could feel her body relaxing. That wouldn’t do. Her picking would slow down. She wanted to finish this row by lunchtime.

Copyright ©2013 Loretta Miles Tollefson

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