A Different Harvest

As I study the berries this spring, I announce to my husband that, for some reason, the strawberries look diminished. But the blackberries and blueberries, which typically lack that flourishing, abundant look to then, thrive.

It’s a different year, with a different yield. Who knows what conditions account for the change? 


I simply remember that each season bears its own fruit. I don’t predict or control the harvest. I just plant and nurture and celebrate what comes forth. 

And I dream of crepes and pies. 

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