We’d wrap our plump fingers around the sun warmed berries,
Red juice staining our teeth and palms,
Eating the stolen handfuls that marked us as thieves.
Under the bridge we’d dip our hands into the cool water,
Jumping into the thin flow of the stream,
The bicycles would rumble overhead as we grabbed at crayfish.
Their little claws snapping at the twigs we prodded them with.
Lifting our knees we splashed across the rolling water,
Only to find ourselves three months older once we’d crossed.