From Concrete to Thimbleberries

Their leaves are big like hands that open wide
to offer us the brightest red in sight:
wild thimbleberries beckoning trailside
where berry-picking hikers take and bite.

I always say my hometown memories
are limited to freeways and concrete.
I never knew these hikes above the trees;
I was afraid of neighbors down the street.

Though now my home is in the mountains, still
I understand that I’m just passing through.
Only eternal Home of homes will fill;
only the presence of the Lord will do.

But till the Bridegroom comes back for His bride,
I’ll still look out for wild berries trailside.

(For T.S. Poetry’s sonnet prompt and The High Calling’s photography prompt. (My photos will be on my flickr account.))

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