On a sunny day in June, a day long waited for,
We drive out to the strawberry fields with the windows open
Passed clapboard houses and white churches with steeples
That stand as they stood a hundred years ago
When the farmers who built them first settled here.
We walk through their fields, down the long furrows,
Until we forget ourselves in the light and air,
Lost among the plants with their blossoms and fruit,
Thinking of the men who labored in the soil
Time out of mind, until time seems to stand still.
We wish we could live here, away from it all,
Our lives turning to the turns of the seasons,
Determined by sunlight and soil and rain,
Rooted down with the strawberries in the deep, good land.