Recently, my beloved's parents arrived from the West Coast to spend some time with us and their grand-kids. A few towns over is a wonderful farm. Summer berry picking is a favorite for our family. In season are golden, red, and black raspberries. The farm also has cherry trees and a blueberry field. We filled our hands and mouths with the sweetest cherries. The children had lips and finger tips stained with berry juice. The bounty was plentiful.Grandpa Tom and Grandma Sonnie were in their element with the children. Instructing them on the secrets of finding the perfect berries, how to pick them off the stem, how to avoid the little thorns on the blackberry bushes. The weather was perfect with N. C. Wyeth clouds in the sky, a slight breeze to dry our sun drenched skin, and the orchard graced with bronze beetles, berry stained children, and electronic bird songs in the blueberry patch (to frighten away the real birds from stealing our blueberries).I am in awe of the colors on a blueberry bush. In the same cluster, I see new berry greens, a blush of pale pink, periwinkle and then the sheen of the ripe blueberry so rich in it's purple hue.