Ode to a dewberry picker

The neighbors said they saw her cut diagonally from our yard across the back of theirs towards the tracks.

Search party assembled, flashlight, dogs on leashes, telephone for phoning for help.

They watched wistfully as they wrapped their arms around their own young children and gently squeezed their shoulders .

Perhaps she strayed in pursuit of the macdaddy of the berries and lost her way home. Too far down the tracks to recognize her own backyard.

Perhaps her captor was lurking in the undergrowth watching her daintily pick her way over the craggy rocks that line the track. Waiting for the cover of darkness to snatch the innocent victim.

Calling out through the silent trees, no response. She left little fuzzy markers that led to larger piles of debris.

Perhaps this was the last frame in her mind of of her home, from far away, blinded by her feathers with her lonely Tom calling out to her. She perished.

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