Childhood+Memory+2

Pick another scene. Begin with a very small, close image. Widen the lens until you have placed the scene in the context of the entire continent.

There are four of us. I am eleven; my brother Kevin is ten; my sister Annie and our friend Margie are both seven. We have just completed tying clover together into circles, and we now wear them like fairy crowns atop our heads. We are formed in a tight circle with our fingers laced together. In our childish voices we sing in unison, “Ring around the rosy. Pockets full of posies. Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down,” as we dance round and round in a circle. Then we erupt into cascades of laughter as we drop to the green carpet of the open field. Suddenly, Margie, in whose father’s field we frolic, points and commands, “Let’s gather strawberries.” We all gallop across the wide open expanse of field, legs pulled high like wild ponies, ferreting out the small red berries scattered throughout the tall grasses. We greedily snatch them up, pop them into our mouths, unconcerned with dirt and bug spit. The berries are warm from the summer sun, and their sweet goodness explodes in our mouths, some of it dribbling onto our chins in our gluttony. We run and laugh and gather and gobble. Hot breezes lick our flesh and bring a sheen to the surface of our skin. Above us Mother Nature has spread a canopy of robin-egg blue, and there is not a single cloud to break its consistency. I look into the sky, let the sunlight rain down on my face, feeling the freckles pop out of hiding. In my mind’s eye I see for a moment, just a moment, other children running across other open fields, picking sweet, succulent strawberries and popping them into their mouths. There are strawberry fields in other parts of this town, in other parts of this state, in other parts of this country that stretch from sea to shining sea, and in all of them children, thousands and thousands of children across this marvelous continent are gorging themselves on sweet, sweet, tastes like sugar in their mouths, strawberries. But I don’t care I say to myself, as I kick my heels, vowing to eat my share of strawberries from this field.

361 Words