It’s that time of year.
A couple times a day I walk out the back door, into the yard, and eat as many black raspberries as I can see growing on the bushes. I do it once in the morning, adding a bunch into my morning granola/kefir mix, and once after work, eating them straight off the canes.
I can’t decide whether I like them best in the early hours, sprinkled with dew and after a long, cool night, or late in the day, warmed by sunshine. What I do know is that I like to pick as many as I can hold in one hand and pour them all into my mouth at once. I rejoice in this seedy, juicy, pulp of fresh berries; all these riches. I am grateful to find a taste of joy in darker times.
