Blackberry bushes are hidden here and there among the grass,
their thorny branches reaching out as if to defend their fruit from
the groping fingers of humans. The thorns are hard to avoid, and
we often gain cuts and scratches while attempting to pick the
sweet berries. It’s always worth it. The fruit is sweet and rich and a
little bit crunchy, and every summer the wild blackberries are an
anticipated and coveted treat.
The rocks that cover some parts of the path are bumpy under my
feet. They remind me of an incident that occurred several years
earlier when I was learning to ride a bicycle.
I had seen my sisters riding down the driveway on their bikes and
had decided that it looked like fun. I wheeled my bike the top of
the driveway and climbed onto the leather seat, sucking in a
breath and then beginning to pedal as hard as I could. Dread
began to rise in my throat as I rocketed at breakneck speed down
the hill, the world blurring around me, tiny bits of gravel spinning in
all directions, the effect of gravity making the rubber wheels spin
faster and faster andfasterandfasterandfasterand –
I hit a bump and flew into the air, landing hard on the rough rocks
and giving myself two very painful skinned knees.
I didn’t try that stunt again for quite a while.
Maude comes to a sudden halt, jerking me back to the present. A
cat is blocking our path, his fur bristled and eyes narrowed at the
sight of the approaching dog. Maude’s ears perk up and her tail
begins to wag at the prospect of a chase. She advances toward
the hissing cat in a bouncy, taunting sort of way. The cat hesitates
for a moment, then scurries off the driveway and into the trees
with a final hiss of disdain. I hold tightly onto the leash to keep
Maude from pursuing the cat and dragging me into the thick
woods. After a moment, she gives up the pursuit and we continue
on, the cat’s footsteps fading away into the brush behind us.