Heat-heavy, a bowl of blueberries between us.
Fingers dipping simultaneously, tips pressing close on blue.
Water-moistened, the berries a deep midnight hue.
Sweetness in my mouth.
A flitting red, then lush green.
A cardinal alights, his plume in the sun.
And by a francophone friend:
Nous avons mange tous les bleuets.
C'est un repas qui n'a pour objet
Que de proclamer la verite de l'ete.
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1 comment:
Such quiet joy in your blog, as always. My husband is also a member of the Fruit tribe and enjoyed the parts of this entry that I read aloud to him.
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