Four lines of prose about: the net.
This morning we managed to get all the cherry trees netted, in order to keep the fruit safe from the very hungry birds. Now that the cherries and strawberries are safely behind nets... I wonder what they'll turn to next.
Hopefully not us.
Her smile is wider than the sea and as bright as the sun as she comes running toward me, net in hand. The words tumble out of her mouth and gather at my feet, piling higher by the second. Reluctantly I break the spell before I am buried beneath her excited mountain.
"Honey, the butterfly you caught is dead."