|The Mulberry Tree on the Ditch Bank at the Farm|
Where we lay down sheets and hung on branches and shook them, feet swaying off the ground.
The purple berries bouncing and staining the white
and dreaming of cobbler
with each crush of fruit.
Four spots of trees, roots deep below surface,
that hold oodles of memories,
marking space and time
and bits of laughter drifting over the years,
brought back in a minute,
stopping by in a car ride
down a black-topped gravel road.
|900 North and 750 East|