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.