Summer months

The summer before my 23rd birthday was a daydream. The summer months flew by like birds heading south for winter. I worked on a farm, surrounded by berries and peaches from morning til afternoon. I spent my days at the stand, selling fruits and veggies to willing buyers. Morning to mid afternoon the stand was slow, i'd pull out a book and read and read and read. Til most of my bookshelf was skimmed through. I started going to the library weekly, and picking out whatever caught my eye. The days were hot, and breezy, and the people sweet as our peaches. If I ever got antsy i'd pace around and put raspberries on the tips of my fingers, and eat them off one by one. During the nights I worked at a restaurant but we weren't allowed to read. So i'd sing songs or make up stories in my head, mostly I talked the servers ears off with nonsense, or ate pizza fresh from the pizza oven. The cooks loved me so I never paid for food, good for my paycheck, bad for my gut.