Blooming

One of those little "aha" moments which add a soupçon of pleasure and quiet thought to a crone's wandering days....

All through the year, I try to avoid approaching the wicked blackberry bushes in one corner of the garden behind the little blue house in the village. To approach them, even in the most humble and congenial frame of mind, is to risk being torn to shreds by the wicked thorns on their long gracefully arching canes. For a week or two at the end of June, there are berries, magnificent, fat, juicy berries (think preserves, dessert sauces and sorbet), and we take our chances. For the rest of the calendar year, we try to remember that the blackberry bushes take their role as silent assassins very seriously indeed, and we give them a wide berth whenever possible.

There have been many times when I pondered just taking a machete to the northwest corner of the garden. Then I think about the time when a burglar climbed over the fence in the wee hours of the morning and landed right in the middle of the blackberry canes. Needless to say or write, his night's work proceeded no further. Never mess with a mature blackberry bush on guard duty, particularly a wild one with attitude.

I've been passing by the blackberry corner of the garden (mostly at a distance) for time out of mind, and until a few days ago, I never noticed how lovely the red fringed blossoms are. Shame on me.