Today we braved the rain, the wasps and thorns and nettles, even the occasional spider. We walked along muddy paths with trees dripping above, laughing at each other, faces damp inside our hoods. We searched for treasure, night dark, glistening among the green leaves.
And we found it.
Sweet and tart, nature’s bounty, tumbling from the hedgerows. So ripe that some were rotting on the brambles, left for birds and insects or trampled underfoot.
Does anyone pick blackberries any more?