Summer is
the season of gatherers:
when picking raspberries
I see the world from upside-down
bent over peering
beneath the white underbellies of leaves for the plump red ones
scratched arms reaching
past prickling canes
- grasping fruit - dangling like a earrings on a
lovely lady
too soft: fingers stained with red mash too hard: a pale pink nub and a resistant pluck just right: crimson clusters sweetly slip from the white pith
!plump perfection!
the mouldering or half-eaten ones fall to the ground
with a quick
finger-flick
(nature’s share)
for birds and rabbits
and bugs.
a bowlful of raspberries
rinsed in cool water & sitting at the counter lasts only until noticed by busy boys passing through
on their way
to bike to swim
to play
to gather memories
from a summer perspective.