Actually, I think it’s “From the Briar”. Berries were always kind of like a little hidden treasure for me. I would go blackberry picking in the horse pasture and something about getting stuck from the thorns, not knowing the difference between my blood and the smeared juice on my hands felt decadent. My grandmother had a sofa in her front room upholstered in some sort of Renaissance landscape motif. I found one little blackberry on the bottom back. My mom often found me lying behind the couch and would ask, “why do you always get right there?”, and it was to hang out with the berry.