harvesting the last of the raspberries…

I awoke at 1am on New Year’s Day and was watching flurries – a rarity an hour into January. Looking down from the second floor bedroom, I noticed the snow beginning to collect where I had worked hard to grow raspberries. This year there were so few that none made it into the house. The two of us gathered in silence, our fingers and lips kissing sweetness of September good-bye. Now the brown earth of the garden was leveled, and the canes were bare of fruit and forgetting. My husband slept in our bed, his fingers – a memory of red, his words I recalled were: Here, for you, the last one. And I had taken it, placing the bauble on his tongue…. “What are you doing by the window at this hour?” “Saying hello to the New Year and harvesting the last of the raspberries.”

Advertisements