They’re picking the cherries one by one, and then by twos, and fistfuls. The wasps buzz as they move up the ladders. Up the tree, pushing past the branches, reaching. Fingers, arms, sides, legs, all scratched, red as casualties after a rough night down town. Impossible to tell whether the hum through the head is incipient heatstroke, tinnitus, or the cicadas. A woman laden like a tortoise with a wrapped bundle bigger than herself full of straw-like substance, rolling slowly u