Monday, September 3, 2012

comrades

"Is that blood or blackberry juice?"
Exactly!
We had grabbed buckets and headed out in the cool morning air to pick blackberries.
Our hearts were as light as our pails.
"Why do people pay a dollar seventy-five a pound to
U-pick blackberries?" my husband wondered aloud as we began.
"Because THEY have no thorns.... ouch," I added right on cue.
"OW!" he responded.
"What beautiful fruit, ow, ow, ouch!" I gasped.
"EEEowwww," my husband howled.
"Ahhhhhh, its got me.... my hair, my hair," I cried.
My husband manfully thrashed to my rescue.
"Ouch, ow, ow."
"Arghhh, aghh, ha, ha, ha, uhh, yike, yip, youch."
Our pails filled in spite of ourselves.
We were sorry to quit.
We were exhilarated as we limped to the car.
We left as comrades.
Danger bonds.
That is my only explanation.

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