Upon a Bushel of Wild Berries

Upon a bushel of wild berries 
you claim this small clearing;
and you lay aside your old wearies. 
As you eat the Earth's offering,
you mumble softly with yearning, 
"Thank you for the gift of summer.”
Through the breeze, there is a whisper,
“You’re welcome, my little one.”
Hearing these words, you rest with her; 
and she tucks you in with a moribund sun. 

Then the sky turns from water to ash. 
The clearing expands across the land;
you hear a far sound of thunder crash. 
Look as the stars begin to disband! 
While they descend you rise to a stand.
They flail to Earth: one presses in a valley.
You run to safety under the elder oak tree.
“Mother, I do not wish to die tonight.”
“My dear, in death you let everything be,”
she soothes as your soul rises in flight.