On Tuesdays, I like to post my contribution to the week’s 99-word Carrot Ranch Literary Community. I like it especially because, although it’s not poetry, it encourages me to condense my narrative line. Perhaps those of you who write might want to try it here.

We used to have a row of mulberry trees on one side of our driveway. In midsummer, when the skies shone cerulean and ships of clouds sailed the prairie, the trees turned green and shiny as holly and began producing the first sweet purple fruit.

My sister and I climbed those trees, but like Snow White’s sweet apple, they exacted a price.  We’d climb out of the trees with scratches and rips on our bare legs and arms, even our faces, twigs in our tousled hair. Our purple mouths, fingers, and purple-stained playsuits testified to our willingness to pay.

I find that I don’t have a single mulberry tree in my photo archives and I can’t swear the linked image is a mulberry tree, but I see similar density.

The linked image shows what we were after–the only thing I can think of that’s better is blackberries and they don’t grow well here.