blackberries! the juice is such a colour, not purple, no, yet it refuses to be blue or red or even black
fascinates me the way that nature harmonises
the flower blossoms are washed through with a purple-ish pink premonition of the fruit yet to come
and the ruddy stained colour of the tendrils. Fanged. Barbaric. Snaking
hmm scratched forearms, its not the obvious, avoidable, barbs and tusks which do the damage, rather the small thorns (sleeping beauty?) with their continual rowdy prickling as you go to pick a berry… them and the venomous hidden sulk of nettles
… oh i do horrible love words ….
Somehow the human scale of blackberry picking, its comfortable inevitability
for sure our supple soft minds can …solve quadratic equations, juggle, speak latvian
but mostly they evolved whilst we were wallowing in bushes, eyes grubbing out the ripest fruit, then: nimble of limb, the yogic stretch, to deftly pluck… then greedy stuff and quaff of berry guzzle. yeah!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.