I picked up blueberries last night at an undisclosed farm market outside Pittsfield, MA. YUCH. Let this not be a harbinger of local berries to come. For today, then, I take solace in the visual beauty and poetic possibilities of the fruit.
And now for the poetic challenge. Without using Google (restrain yourself, please!), who wrote the poem about today's featured fruit that these lines are taken from?
"It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit.
I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot.
And after all really they're ebony skinned:
The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind,
A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand,
And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned."
On-your-honor winner gets a Talking Plants keyring. On my honor.