The leaves have turned to shades of crimson and gold, and the winter snows have already given us a fairly blatant preview of the season to come. So, today I decided that this post would be my last hopeful grasp of summer. One of my favorite summer memories as a little girl on the farm was waking up every morning to go to the blackberry bushes and eat every swollen berry I could possible find before my sisters would wake up. If they woke up before I was finished eating them all, I would have to share. Who likes to share when you are little? Well, I may not share my blackberries with you (or anyone), but I WILL share this poem by Mary Oliver that reminds me of my childhood summers.


AUGUST
By Mary Oliver

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among


the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.