The berries were smaller than we expected; the sun was hot and strong. Yet sister, mother and I pushed onward, not thwarted by humidity or anything else. We spent the an afternoon last week picking strawberries at a local farm, filling wooden trays and paying by the quart - as many cardboard boxes as we had cash. That night we feasted on strawberry shortcake, and Saturday morning our pancakes were smothered in stewed red berries and leftover whipped cream. Dessert for breakfast.
Summer feels hot and sweet in my mouth. The days are sticky and long. If I wasn't so distracted by bright fruit, I'd write an ode to June.