She plucked it, bit it, and let the juice run all the way down her chin before catching it with the back of her hand.
Messy. . . . as usual.
A stain had already made its way onto her sweater. The pink mohair had sucked up the red —- immediately, absorbing it completely.
“Maybe I’ll dye the whole thing a deep burgundy” she thought, really believing she would.
It was a shame because it was her favorite sweater for this time of year. Ethereal, like feather, gracing her with just the right amount of warmth as spring became summer.
It was early in the season, and the berries were tart,
but sweet enough.
It was good to escape the city for an afternoon.
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