Because I Wanted Jam
I had thought
the gray, overcast morning
would grant me solitude
in the field.
But I forgot
how short the season is,
the strawberries being
generous but fleeting —
like a swarm of gnats that
skirts their course as humans approach.
And I forgot
how early the young ones rise:
they’ve been up for hours already.
They’re past second breakfast
and have burned through screen time.
And they’re all here with me
in the warming field.
Asking is this one ripe
and being told
no not the white tipped ones
And being called to over and over
Nina. Nina. Nina come here!
The incessant voice of a mother bird trying to
push the little ones deeper into the nest
on fledging day.
Love it! Guess what we did this morning? Picked and made strawberry sauce (jam is too complex for me)
I wish I lived near a big strawberry patch and was able to pick fresh strawberries. I was raised in the Methodist tradition and at the end of the school year we always went to the strawberry “social” at church. Thanks for bringing back a happy time in my life that was filled with innocence. Kay Wallis
Nancy: There is nothing like fresh strawberries and I was reminded of when the Methodist Church back home in Summit, New Jersey had their annual Strawberry Festival in June. Ah, the simple days of years past. I can see that I’ll be getting a strawberry and vanilla ice cream soon.I do hope you are having aa good and enjoyable summer. Love, Kay