Poem: Blueberry Moments



Blueberry Moments

It has been dry for days and now,
even in the early morning,
there is no dew on the blueberries.

The leaves have begun to curl, first signs
of the drought to come from
a world gone strangely dry.

But you have to look closely,
for in this moment, everything looks perfect,
a succulent still life.

You can almost taste the berries
and you are faced with a choice,
pick each one in this moment of near perfection

or roll the dice and wait, just a day of few,
trusting rain will come, and the berries
will take their last step to perfection

or dry up and die.
The devil’s choice to think either choice is perfect.
There is no perfection. Only the moment.

And this one, whether you pluck the blue orbs
or not,
is a thing of beauty.


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