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A Swinging Blue Bag Of Late Blackberries



Clouds choke the valley with mist.

The damp of the grass seeps through holes in my wellies.

In the Four Fields, a dog called Tom is being schooled for the nursery trials.

On the top road, two cats scale a wall at our approach.  One tail vanishes.  The other turns and, from the opposite end of a curved body, piercing eyes watch our progress.

We’re both tired.  We choose the short route.

As we wend our way down the snicket, a swinging blue bag of late blackberries grows heavier in my hand at each pause.  A seed sticks in my tooth.

I push A Shine Of Rainbows into the dung-spattered postbox.  And a birthday card for Vanda.

As the clouds begin to disperse, I tip the black berries into my cherry bowl.  Slice in ripe figs.  Spoon over just-now-delivered yogurt.  Sweeten with toffee stevia.  


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