Northwest mist hides soft fir tree horizon. <br />We drive around curves through cold violet gray. <br />The day never really changes; <br />A full day of morning. <br /> <br />An abandoned field full of purple prickles; <br />Thrilling prospect - old boxes, old clothes - <br /> We stop the car, hesitating to face <br />The violet rain waiting for us. <br /> <br />Shivers of early autumn delicious down our arms <br />Slight dismay - gazing at the emptiness of our boxes <br />Wondering if there are enough berries to fill them fully <br />And whether we will find them. <br /> <br />Down the old rows, once owned <br />By someone farming full time <br />Now the delight of weekend purple pickers in the rain <br />Prickles scratching fingers, thumbs, <br />Pathetic but persistent attack. <br /> <br />Black and blue - look - juicy and big <br />And calling you just a little beyond <br />Keep picking, tasting, laughing <br />Holding conversation among the fairy bushes. <br />Who may be listening? <br /> <br />Hours pass - purple inside and out <br />Full boxes of future jam and mashed bugs <br />Home again - sharing hot baths and flannel, <br />Sausages and beer <br />Warming up - tired and triumphant <br />Basking in violet grey fall friendship.<br /><br />Christine Natale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/berry-picking-2/
