I went for a walk an picked brambles. My local area is full of blackberry bushes and right now is the perfect time to pick this precious fruit, the most mysterious of all the summer fruit. Takes the longest to ripen and is so full of goodness – while I was picking the brambles, I thought, hey, there’s a poem in that! And there was…
My hand weaves past the leaves, past
fruit still spring clean green with knobbly ears,
past a blushing pair of heads leaning
cheek to cheek in coy excitement.
Then, the prize.
I hold the whole of summer gently pinched
between the soft tips of my expert fingers.
I pluck plump, silly days and sultry nights.
Sun, moon and stars, I pick the past, the future.
Just a berry.
Fragile and sparkling in the deepest black.
The theory of everything.