Blueberry Harvest

I want to pick blueberries with my mom again

Sunlight warming my cheeks

Her gentle hands touching me 

Tasting the sweetness of both the fruit and her words

Our harvest being placed on the kitchen counter 

Leaving splotches of purple sugary goo on the white counter 

Smelling like leaves and fruit

We cook the plentiful berries down 

Bubbling, boiling, blistering the blueberries

Pouring the hot sappy mixture into pie

She tells me every detail

Explaining how my husband will love it

I know however

When the time comes

It will not be perfected for my husband

But for the women I owe my womanhood to. 

Posted in response to the challenge Hygge.

kaley

VT

18 years old

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