Ripening
You almost missed it — a wild
blueberry
in mid-September
somehow overlooked by bears
and berry pails
and not yet touched
by frost —
and you stopped
to hear it
humming alone in its night sky skin
those wordless tunes
of ripening
which the heart of you knows
as the sweet weight
of longing
for what bends
every stem
with an ending’s
beginning
like a late berry unfolding
as if it knows
no season.
This is beautiful, Tricia!
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Thank you Victoria! It’s fun to find you here. ❤️
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