Stolen Strawberries

The rain had filled the depressions made by my barefeet on the soft saturated earth. Drawing in the elusive smell of wet soil and stolen strawberries, I felt my way by touching the peeling trunks of ancient, cavernous trees and doused sleepy leaves. I had waited till silence had undulated over the house and my solitary escapade from it had became one with the night. I remember when I was younger, I would scrunch up underneath the young coriander tree and shake it's lithe branches. The raindrops would slide down it's parsley like leaves and fall on my face like tears that only angels can cry.

And I remember lying awake and listening to music wafting from the jukebox of a neighbour I had never met.
And I remember trying to understand shapes of the fleecy clouds swirling in the fluid firmament.
And I remember pressing the crushed petals of a roadside shiuli as dawn broke in the sleepy horizon.
And I remember looking longingly at a kaleidoscopic kite tearing the air in it's lonely flight.

And as the rain traced random meandering paths down my arms, I will remember tonight. A sliver of memory savouring of a moist moonlight and stolen strawberries.