The blinding sun,
Beyond the skyline.
I wish I could be in the vicinity of the horizon,
But it always runs away.
The sun is tumbling,
Inch by inch,
As it glints on the blueberry meadows.
We gaze in awe at the rows and rows of mansions,
The mystical castles,
So oversized and spacious.
We look closely at the frosty vanilla ice cream on the mountains afar.
The blueberries are plump,
Desperately waiting to be plucked.
We collect masses in silence,
And watch the jet overhead dance in the sky,
For some reason I have a TikTok song trapped in my head.
We fill shopping bags of blueberries until our arms are worn out and weak,
Tense the bag will tear,
Scattering thousands of blueberries onto the land.
The pickup truck nearby creates a whopping dust cloud,
Making us sneeze uncontrollably.
We clumsily stumble to our truck,
And bathe our blueberry stained hands with the water from our water bottle.
Oh how I dream I can always slip away,
From this mundane,
And live amongst a blueberry farm,
And watch the sun dip below the horizon everyday.
I wish we could launch all our cellphones into a nearby lake,
And inhale the air of mother nature,
And lead a life in the present instead of pondering in the past.
Departing from the countryside,
And revisiting our conventional suburban life.
Oh how I miss it,
The blueberry farm,
And the quarantine August breeze.