Letting it be

As I age
I am learning the art
Of letting it be


Where I once dug
And weeded
And mulched
Have matured berries
So thick with brambles
Black with juice
I can pick a quart in a day


The picking is an exercise in consent
Prised gently between thumb and forefinger
I gently ask the question
Will you come with me?
If I meet resistance
I leave it


If I get too greedy
Or move too quickly
Thorns embed themselves
Or graze my arms
My hands
My feet
Catching themselves
In the skirt of my dress
Reaching for my moon white belly


But if I take my time
If I let them be
I am rewarded by the dark cupful
More than I can eat
Enough to share