Anne picks some blackberries ...

Late one September afternoon, Anne started picking blackberries - long shadows crept across the grass - small birds flickered in the cloudless sky - the river coiled across the valley - cows drowsed in the water meadows, closing their gentle wounded eyes - 

I watched Anne pick the blackberries, taking care not to squeeze the tender fruit, easing each tart treasure off its stem - 

The bright brambles writhed above Anne's head - soon her finger tips were stained with purplish juices -

I heard each joyous beat of my heart - I felt the cool moss underneath my bare feet - 

Later we would eat stewed apples and blackberries with ice cream - 

The blackberries would melt upon our tongues - 


18.00
September 6 2014

The Old School House