I do not plant my garden. But every year it appears.
On summer days I go out hunting for those ripe wild raspberries that grow so red against the leafy green along the forest's edge.  And then I watch as catbirds!  Thrushes! Bluebirds! Gobble berries too.

On summer days I go out hunting the tart and sweet blue berries that lie hidden under clusters of leaves down law, or high in trees.  And then I watch as cedar ,waxwings eat the ones I've left.

This garden is for all of us for the birds, for all the hunters and the gathers, for the tortures, the chipmakers and the slugs, for the bees, the butterflies  and the bugs.
(Adapted)