Blackberry season is beginning. The first few have made their way from vine to mouth. A few drops of blood are a slight price to pay for tasting blackberries today. And if you go berry picking you will bleed.
In a few days I will be filling buckets with the purplish black fruit whose juice stains hands and clothing a rich purple.
July: The Berry Picker
July is the month for blackberries,
the solitary berry picker is diligent;
the berries have come in flushes
one after the other
and he has gotten most of them.
Becoming lost in thought
his fingers turn purple,
he thinks of fingers stained
and berries picked in summers long ago.
The berry picker has entered that no man’s land
where today and yesterday co-mingle.
Returning home he finds no one insideand all at once he remembers and cries.
(The above poem was written a decade or more ago. I worked on it some.)
Blackberry blossoms are the promises of blackberries.
Blackberries ripe and more to ripen making July the time to fill the mouth and the freezer. Will they be jam, will they be wine? Will they be both?
Happy Days of Berries and Blood
One berry two days ago,
three or four berries yesterday,
a handful of berries today.
I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Photography and poetry by David H. Roche