Thalia extricated herself from the brambles and dropped a handful of berries into the bowl. Her hands were scratched, blood beaded on her left cheek, and there was a thorn in her thumb. She grinned. “Whew! I’m free.” Glasses askew, Urania dropped her contribution onto the pile and sighed. “I was hoping for enough to make a pie.”
T-shirt: “I can remember when people went through a whole day without taking a picture of anything.” 😁
OTOH, we saw a "Miss Marple" episode last night where the characters were referencing a painting while they tracked down clues. So they carried around THE ENTIRE PAINTING — frame and all, all over some village and surrounding countryside. Because it was the 1950s, and what else were they going to do?
Alas, I have never been picking for wild berries in the wild. Closest I've come is wild strawberries in my own yard. But I get to enjoy the flowers (tiny delicate yellow blooms) and the fruit in situ, so there's that.
My bowl is overflowing… The crazy thing is, it doesn’t seem to matter how much I pour out, my life has become so abundant, I don’t feel like it’s lacking anything.
Every time I return to this blog, or another, I walk away with a bowl so full of berries that I have to take care not to spill them on the way out…
I have slowly become open to everything and attached to nothing, at least as it relates to whatever I’m experiencing or creating.
I am no longer afraid of the blank page as either words or images always show up with the help of my muses or yours!
Time to dip my paw into the gratitude pot the same way Pooh dipped his in the “Hunny.”
Black raspberries, right? Growing up we mostly picked blackberries - elongated somewhat. On a really good day we sometimes found boysenberries. Both growing wild. I can relate to Tal’s battle scars!
T-shirt: “I can remember when people went through a whole day without taking a picture of anything.” 😁
OTOH, we saw a "Miss Marple" episode last night where the characters were referencing a painting while they tracked down clues. So they carried around THE ENTIRE PAINTING — frame and all, all over some village and surrounding countryside. Because it was the 1950s, and what else were they going to do?
Alas, I have never been picking for wild berries in the wild. Closest I've come is wild strawberries in my own yard. But I get to enjoy the flowers (tiny delicate yellow blooms) and the fruit in situ, so there's that.
My bowl is overflowing… The crazy thing is, it doesn’t seem to matter how much I pour out, my life has become so abundant, I don’t feel like it’s lacking anything.
Every time I return to this blog, or another, I walk away with a bowl so full of berries that I have to take care not to spill them on the way out…
I have slowly become open to everything and attached to nothing, at least as it relates to whatever I’m experiencing or creating.
I am no longer afraid of the blank page as either words or images always show up with the help of my muses or yours!
Time to dip my paw into the gratitude pot the same way Pooh dipped his in the “Hunny.”
#Grateful for all of YOU!
Happy 4th of July! ❤️🤍💙
Black raspberries, right? Growing up we mostly picked blackberries - elongated somewhat. On a really good day we sometimes found boysenberries. Both growing wild. I can relate to Tal’s battle scars!
Have a berry fruitful Fourth!