Grandma Jones was sitting in the porch swing, swaying back and forth, lulling herself to sleep. The comforting movement initiated dreams of bygone days. Nourishing warmth and sunshine reminded her of joining her mother on trips to the blackberry patch. The cultivated blackberry bushes yielded huge berries and they made quick work of jams and juice.
This particular memory was so vivid she woke from her dreamlike state. She and her mother were not the only visitors to the berries. Her mother suddenly grabbed her shoulder and motioned to be quiet as they back stepped out of the patch.