From the Gypsy, whose words are nearly as perfect as her pictures.

"I can see my littlest sisters from the porch far off along the dirt road picking blackberries as if they were gold, their bikes laying in the road where they dropped them and their laughter and conversation drifting back to me in the blue dusk. Soon they are running back across the freshly cut pastures, blackberries held like secret treasures in their shirts. I watch as the juice soaks in, spreading like a purple sea and then up at their faces – shining, oblivious to the stains and asking, “You want one? Try one, just one…they’re so good.” They surround me and the longing for them is that ache that belongs only to three blonde fairies living in the woods where there on no street lights and the fireflies illuminate the sweet, pure darkness."