Plink, plank, plunk, go the blueberries in my memory. (Pail, bush, Maine.) So, too, go the stones into the river of January. Smooth and strange weights of observation, and choice. Who doesn't love a skipping rock? Berry of the sea, blue on its way to the bottom.
(Join us in writing every day in January!) xox
oooh, I just yesterday I had some of my home made berry jam on toast - from the red and black raspberries of summer... Write with you! Peace.
ReplyDeleteNow I'll think of you and "berry of the sea" whenever I make my breakfast (which usually includes the blueberries).
ReplyDelete