Friday morning we picked blueberries. She set out across the field to find the best berries, alone, but soon scurried back to me because wild animals were making noise in the brush beyond the fence. She told me knock knock jokes, stories of being a child, dreams of being grown, and we picked buckets full of berries.
Perfectly Ten she balances between sweet childhood and tart teen and I wish I could save this moment for the future. To savor. Like the blueberry jam that will remind us of summer on cold winter mornings.