My blackberry bush offered up her very last harvest this morning. The branches showcase crinkled fingers of leaves, and the remaining unripened berries surrender and shrink back into themselves.
With hardly any time to worry over the loss (and with 7 or 8 bags of frozen blackberries for winter cobbler), I rush to the raspberries. You can’t keep up with them; they fill a whole bowl every morning as my daughter and I, dew-covered and hungry, pierce our hands to retrieve them.
By 3:00 PM, they produce a brand new harvest. By the end of the month, I’ll resent this abundance for the work of it. But now, I learn this: A thankful, busy heart–with more work than one can handle–keeps me focused on current blessing and not what I don’t have or what’s now over.
I love raspberries.