The hot afternoon summer sun shines down on my freckled cheeks, kissing them more and more as the minutes pass. In a grubby sundress I take in the surroundings while a stillness sits around me. I find a dusty stain on the dress’ trim as I help pick peas from the garden. With the waves of prairie summer wave hello, my hair feels like it could be aflame. My blonde locks are hit by the rays, blinding the dullness into strands of red and gold. Two rows away, my grandmother is knelt down, picking the weeds out from the stems of her enormous garden.
After what seems like hours in the hot sun, my eyes catch the bright packaging of birdseed slumped by the porch. I suppose my grandmother must have used it earlier to fill her collection of bird feeders. Sneaking over, I grab a hand full, stuffing it into the garden gloves I had been using. Within seconds, a dusty hand pats my shoulder. The jig is up I think, but grandma is just going in to get us lemonade. Rushing to hide the evidence, I lay the bird seeded glove under the coverage of a nearby rhubarb. Moments later grandma returned with a sweating glass of sour sweetness. As the flavours dance in my mouth, I notice the rhubarb being rampaged by birds. One of the birds looks right at me, seemingly thanking me for the cool spot for her to eat on the sweltering day.