|Photo credit Leora Wenger|
Monday, November 7, 2011
Seriously. I happened upon a mature raspberry patch while alleyway walking in early Autumn and I've been visiting the spot every week for six weeks now and the berries are still there: ripe, red, tart, and not moldy. I pick a handful each time, the toes of my shoes glistening in the heavy dew, little drops of water splashing onto the brim of my hat off overgrown canes, and my nose and fingers getting cold. There are plenty on the ground and it is obvious that no one is overly proprietorial about them and so I marvel and savour their unseasonal appearance, thinking each indulgence will be my last of the year and yet they continue to surprise me. This type of surprise is the best kind: an unexpected find that, with a little effort for a small berry with big flavour, can totally make my rainy day.