BLACK LINED VINES By Kirstyn C.

  Pricked, poked, pressed and pinched hearing “OUCH” everywhere I turn. But I guess I should start from the beginning. Five that is how old I am when my family decided to go blackberry picking. Feeling ecstatic is the only way to describe the feeling.

  My head kept thinking “Am I dreaming?” Running up the stairs, and grabbing my stocking cap to pick blackberries with. Winnie the Pooh taught me that. We are driving slowly to the blackberry bushes. Bouncing up and down in my seat like a trampoline, bouncing so high up, till my head almost touched the ceiling. What I am expecting to hear is yes, but I never do.

  Finally, we get there! Getting out of the car only to find out we have to hike for them. Every second asking my parents “Are we there yet?” You know where this is going. What I am expecting to hear is yes, but I never do.  Finally, I see black lined vines in the distance, but how can they be blackberries?

  I hear the wind blowing past my face and felt the smooth berry. They are so sleepy in their cold lumpy beds. The smooth berry was like a black cherry.

  Have you ever felt the mix of emotion I do? A mix of happy, and ecstatic. I honestly don’t know what I feel.  Walking into the field  and  could already taste the cobbler we were going to make and smell the fresh fruit.

   My dad was getting pricked as if they were waiting, glaring, and planning on his coming. Finally, getting to pick the berries.

  The fruit felt fresh and fertilized. Why couldn’t we do this more often? When we filled up my cap it was time to go. As we look back, we see whistling wind winding and whirling through the bushes, and the bushes swayed in wind showing secret passages to new lands. The berries are waiting for the next person to come get pricked, poked, pressed and pinched hearing “OUCH” everywhere they turn. So until then, they wait dancing to the tune of the wind.