PICKING BLUEBERRIES ALONE

Having at last to notice by the sheer force of blueberry blue that the remaining clusters of berries are now ripe - I've sort of been avoiding the blueberry bushes because they remind me of hungry little hands reaching in to pick the ready berries only a few weeks ago, and of the delight it was to watch those faces light up at the first taste of blueberries fresh-picked with your own new hands - I am obliged to pick the berries with a bit of blue heartache, knowing how much the grandkids would have enjoyed plucking these plump blue jewels and chewing them up on the spot, their faces shining with blueberry light...

In my own older hands reaching in among the reddening leaves I see the new little hands reaching in, and as I chew the fresh berries on the spot I try to taste the blue richness with all the childhood I can muster, to see and feel and know it all new again, and I do-- I succeed, to my surprise; I return for the length of the taste to when I first savored new blueberries - it's all still there in me somewhere - and thanks to the grandchildren for that inspiration, though I'd still rather they were here to do it new.