Blueberry Surprise
Note: I'm taking a vacation from a regular blog post this week, and instead I'm sharing a poem about a recent blueberry discovery.
I don’t know why
I turned right
when I usually turn left
on my morning walk,
but the biggest surprise
was yet to come.
Blueberries!
On the side
of a busy Portland street,
ground a mix
of grass and bubble wrap and plastic bottles,
I found a stand
of high bush blueberries.
Could they truly be here,
a five-minute walk
from my house,
near the bus stop
and funeral home
and bright orange traffic cones?
But they were real,
a wonder to see,
this quintessential Maine fruit.
Eager to save some
from the birds,
I returned, small container in hand,
and spent blissful moments
picking berries.
What did drivers think
in their passing cars,
or did they notice me
at all?
Maybe they were as oblivious
as I had been
every time I drove by
this treasure.
But today
I stopped and wondered
what could be more important
communion with berry bushes,
summer sun just rising,
dew dampening my sneakers,
birds singing,
dusky blue berries
falling into my hands?
I went home
with less than a cup
but spirit and heart
overflowing
with wonder and delight
for my blueberry surprise.