© Andre Abrahami under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic License
Approaching the tree,
the old man –
buttoned up in dusty gaberdine –
(a retired headteacher, I decide)
waves his stick.
The child freezes.
And I, placating without asking why, smile.
‘Mulberries’, he says.
Raises his stick again,
takes a swing at a cluster of fruit,
breaking the twigs and leaves,
breaking the rules.
The child, scraping up the scattered mulberries, smiles.
© Marion Adams 2013