wet berries

Mendocino sunset

On that rainy Sunday, we took a walk, Marty and I, boots and umbrellas, Hoolie and Annabelle, the short-haired happy mutts.  Up the hill to inspect the new road, to see how it fared in the wet.  Along the turn near Ren’s gate, blackberries dangled, dripping, glistening, alluring.  The short, cool summer kept them late this year, and the rain came early. Oh! What joyous meeting!  (Sorry, I’ve been reading Shakespeare for the first time ever)  The rain had washed them clean of any dry summer dust, and left them quenched, drenched, luminous.  Mmmmm….they were extra good, wet, ripe, sweet, and bountiful.  Where was my bucket?  We stood side-by-side, under cover of our umbrellas, plucking wet, fat berries, filling our mouths and bellies ’til we couldn’t eat another.  Looking down we noticed Hoolie; gently, carefully, pulling ripe berries from the vine with his delicate doggie lips.  We cracked up and encouraged his foraging.  I picked a few and fed them to him and to Annabelle, who was more reluctant, timid of the thorns.   Rain is good.

About Zahara

gardener, cyclist, student, mom,
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