Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Blackberry Picking (Welcome Home)

Sneaky little devils.
They hide in the shadows in their black skins
and squeeze your mouth if they're picked before they're ready.
And the only way to know if they're ready is if they burst and bleed all over you when you pluck them.

Today I picked 19 blackberries off a branch a foot long.
19 heavy-hanging worlds
that pulled that one foot of a branch down to the earth.

Bees skipped from one to the next.
I left blackberry-blood prints on the leaves.


  1. Welcome home, Sister Carter! It's been absolutely delightful to read your blog entries and spend a few moments with you in France. What a wonderful mission!

    If you are headed up this way and have an afternoon to spare, please let me know. I know lots of friends that would love to get together with you for lunch and a nice chat.

    Are you headed back to BYU?

    And by the way, when up close and personal with my blackberries, I'm as likely to leave my own blood behind as not.

    Best wishes!

  2. Or am I premature? I sincerely hope not, but it would be the first time I've been early in a long, long time.