Blackberries

I cannot even begin to explain the joy of picking blackberries.

I think I have picked at least seven times so far this season.  With Anna - in the thick brambles of the Intervale, and alone.  It has been worth every single tear in my clothing and of my skin.  The beauty in the struggle to get them makes me feel triumphant.  It is NOT EASY to fill a bucket with blackberries. Picking is not for the weak or timid. I have felt so covetous of and in love with these blackberries, that I have imagined being a bear.  I have even imagined hearing a bear nearby, breathing heavily on the other side of the thicket, as I pick yet one more glossy purple clot.  I didn't feel afraid.  I just felt kinship.