The first mistake: I came for strawberries.
Strawberries - no. More precisely, they are there, but they are cunning. They hide in the grass, their color is almost the same as the leaves, and when you find them - they are already pecked, trampled or ... just brazenly lying there and looking: "It's too late, friend."
The second mistake: I decided that it was romantic.
In the movies, everything is beautiful: a girl in a sundress bends over, picks berries, smiles at the sun, everything glows.
But after 15 minutes, I was already standing all in the ground, knees in the grass, back arched, face covered in mosquito bites, and only my inner voice did not give in:
— But it's natural! But without chemicals!
And also without a manicure, a normal mood and with the prospect of breaking the basket on a bush.
Third mistake: I took white clothes.
I'll be honest: strawberries take revenge. And senselessly and mercilessly. One awkward gesture - and your shirt already looks like a crime scene in the garden. And try to explain to someone later that it was "berry juice" and not you who brazenly served jam in the face of your ex.
But there was magic too...
At some point, I stopped. In my hands were three whole berries, one already bitten (yes, I couldn’t resist), in my ears was the buzzing of bees and my heavy breathing. But the sun was shining, children were laughing somewhere in the distance, and the strawberries in my palm smelled like summer.
And it became somehow... good. Really.
Even though my back was aching, my manicure was ruined, and the basket was barely full. But I collected more than just berries. I collected the morning, laughter, living feelings and that very taste for which all this is started.
Conclusion?
If you suddenly want romance, go pick strawberries. But don’t forget:
clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty;
mosquito repellent (a lot);
patience (even more);
and someone who will then make you tea while you lie flat out and heroically chew your trophy.