Outside my French doors it is berry season. There are wild raspberries on the mountain, blueberries on the farm, juicy little gifts from Mother Nature waiting to be picked and savored.
Blueberries are sweetest when I only take the ones that fall into my hand with the gentlest tug. I like to thank the kind bushes for making my job easy and try not to be greedy. They are generous shrubs and I enjoy the moments I spend in their midst. I am always reminded of the authentic givers amongst those people I know when picking blueberries.
Wild raspberry bushes are prickly misers. They guard their fruit, not wanting to share. It takes a keen eye and careful hand to deal with them. The little ruby colored gems they offer are often accompanied by pain. I do not spend much time in their company, despite the sweetness they promise.
I understand the bushes have thorns as a survival tactic. They are protecting their continuance in the world. Some people feel a need for thorns, too. But, I always wonder, why can't they be like blueberries, and survive without inflicting pain?
This is the time of year to savor the sweet and understand life a bit better. Some of life can be approached with an open hand and heart, some is better handled with an awareness of boundaries despite its attributes. I hope all enjoy the sweetness and avoid the thorns.
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