Counting the jars, Aunty plucked the berries in cautiously. I watched in pure amazement as she hummed each dropping note with new perfection.
"Aunty? When can I sort the berries like you do?" I question with hopeless wonder.
"When I die my dear. You'll have seen it well enough by then." Aunty said after a pause, she then continued to sort the berries into each well counted jar.

That was the last time I saw Aunty. She was always very kind, very sweet. She wouldn't hurt a fly. And that isn't exaggerated, I've watched as she scooped flies into the fly nets and freed them out where they belong.
I don't think Aunty did any wrong. And then after her passing I worked up the courage and rode my bike all the way to her house like I used to. I never understood why she sorted the berries but I was determined to learn her ways, her jar...