Salmon Berry

(1st Version)

Stopped in a trail loop,

I squeeze a salmon berry,

Juice flowing freely.

(2nd Version)

My daughter stops along the trail

To rip up leaves,

Throwing each tiny piece into an imaginary stove in the sticks.

“Let’s go!” I call.

“Ready?” asks Grampa.

“Do you want to go back to the car?” big brother coaxes.

She ignores us all and keeps tearing the flesh of fresh ferns

Like her life depends on it.

“I am cooking!” she finally screams at all of us.

“Are you happy or mad?” she asks her brother.

“I am angry, because you are not coming,” he replies.

“No! You are happy!”

She cooks soup, chicken and pizza with leaf bits

And screams at us to be happy.

I finally stop and wait.

Not the waiting of tugging a tiny hand forward,

But the honest waiting of stillness.

Three bright orange salmon berries stare out at me from the tangled wall of green.

I pick one and examine it, smell it,

Move it gently between my fingers.

Juice loosens within each tiny berry bubble.

It seems a waste but I start to squeeze it,

Pale orange juice streams down my palm and wrist,

I just stand there without blinking,

Crushing all the hurrying,

Allowing myself to feel the warm orange drops on my skin.