When I was about five years old, I lived in a small German village. Not far from our house was a strawberry patch, which belonged to our neighbor.
One late spring day, a friend and I spied those strawberries and decided to have a taste. Well, one taste led to another and before long we had eaten her entire patch.
Oh boy, was she mad.
Oh boy, was I in trouble.
I remember those sweet, little strawberries peaking their strawberry bodies out from under their elfin like green leaves. The sun caught their complementary colors in it's rays and I was mesmerized. And into the patch we crawled. A picnic of strawberries and giggles. It was worth the punishment.
I can't say the same for today. I bought a carton of tempting looking strawberries and disappointingly, they tasted either watery or overly ripe. Where do today's gigantic strawberries come from? They look so good, yet taste so uninspiring.
Today's strawberries wouldn't have lured a five year old and her friend into a forbidden strawberry patch on a drowsy sunny day where, after indulging, allowed themselves to lay on their backs and let the sun kiss their strawberry sweet faces.