The Berry Pickers

by Amanda Peters

There is a code among the dying: let the living speak. They have longer to atone for it.

There was love in that house, but none of us really knew what to do with it.

I think there is something to be said for salt air. I know we have it in Maine, but I believe that getting away from what you know, getting lost in the cold, northern salt air, is good for the soul.

I don’t have time for regret, or the emotional strength it requires. I see the world unfolding as it is meant to. Sometimes I have trouble finding meaning in the things that happen to me, but I assume that the universe knows what it’s doing.

Prejudice runs deep and offers no apologies in small towns.

Time quickens the older you get, as if the universe is trying to push you toward the finish line, to make room for the younger, the stronger, to mark your brief place in history and move on.