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Magic Berries

I awoke today craving something I will most likely never have again. Blackberries. I know it’s the wrong time of year for fresh berries, but it wouldn’t matter. I can’t buy the berries I want. The berries I want are wild blackberries found in the overgrown backwoods of Texas. Or maybe it’s just the memory I’m craving.

I can still see my Mother bent over the bushes, a red rag on her head and long sleeves. I can still feel the warm sun. Not the skin crisping sun we have today, but the kind that warms the body and the spirit.  The joy of coming home, scratched arms and stained fingers in tow and being handed a large bowl of berries with fresh cold cows cream. Despite a belly full stolen from my Mother’s basket, I still wanted that bowl of berries. They tasted like summer.

More and more these random little daydreams pop in my head. Maybe it’s Motherhood or the nostalgia that comes with age. Whatever it is, my wish today is a little wild berry patch in my own backwoods. What a joy it would be to hand my little ones a bowl full of summer.

blackberries

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