I see the pointed leaves of wild raspberries and the memory comes back.
I balance my bicycle between my legs, front wheel turning heavily towards the woods. There are wild raspberries in my hand. Dad smiles. I reach for more; red ripe fruit hides under the wide leaves. Sunshine has reached through the aspen canopy of green. There is a glow around us like light in a cathedral of trees. Dad’s voice changes in the woods. We seem to stand on holy ground.
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