Write four lines of prose about being: pushed around.
That's how I felt while picking strawberries and raspberries this afternoon in very, very strong winds. The raspberries were especially fun, what with the canes blowing all over the place, keeping berries out of reach and thorny bits dancing around my face.
Totals for the day: 20 pints of strawberries, 27 pints of raspberries. My feeling at the moment is that was the final major strawberry pick of the year, which I'm more than ready for. Kat also harvested five bags worth of snow peas and her parents got the... what was it again?
Ah, right. Cherries. Eighteen crates of them. And they're planning on getting us two or three more before I pack up the truck tomorrow morning.
It's going to be a busy market. Good thing Kat's brother and Rebecca will be chipping in to help get us through it. Wish us luck!
After far too many years, he had finally grown tired of his treatment. Forced to go this way and that at the whim of others, never consulted as to which direction he wished to go in. No more, at last.
It was time for the grocery cart to lose a wheel and be left to his own devices.