Since the pumpkin patch overtakes the raspberry canes, I resign myself to a diminished harvest. Even now, with the blue sky, the bright red berries, and my little bowl balanced on the beam that helps stabilize my blackberries, I find myself filled with joy.
Ordinary, simple. These, I eat with yogurt or alongside afternoon tea. Or, in that strange atmosphere of equal parts summer’s retreat casting warmth and autumn’s outstretched arms chilling our toes in the garden, I’ll invite my daughter–the one in her own transition to new seasons–and we’ll stand together in the uncertain weather, gobbling the sun-warmed berries.
I’ll take what I can get.