Blueberries

The small wild blueberry bush is at the farthest end of the garden. At this point in the season I only expected to find a few of the sweet, blue spheres but was pleasantly surprised to find the little plant, with now reddish leaves, proudly flanked with numerous berries. At closer examination I noticed that not all of the berries were good, as some appeared full of little holes as though a bird or ants got into them. Of course, this was only the case of the largest berries, but the smaller ones seemed intact. I picked one and popped it into my mouth. The burst of the blue fluid awoke my taste buds with its mild sweetness. YUM! I proceeded to pick the good little blue spheres and placed them in my little box.

The sound of children playing peaked my attention and I looked across to the adjoining garden (the neighbor's) and three little boys playing (African American boys). They too were picking wild berries from their garden and playing, enjoying the lovely afternoon. Over the laughter and joyous cries I heard music. It sounded like something from the 1940s, like the close harmonies of the Andrews Sisters (perhaps it was the Andrews Sisters). The song referred to little boys and blueberry-picking . . . how fitting!

Then the alarm woke me up at 6 AM!