The Blackberry as Metaphor

How NOT to eat a Blackberry.

The sun finally burns through the morning fog on its journey over the Berkeley hills. On its way it sparkles through the thorny vines in Helen's backyard. All my shirts are snagged, since I cannot resist reaching for the farthest fruit, the one fat globule that will either make my mouth water, or gag me.

I know the secret of blackberries, and that is that there is one special moment when the sugars are the sweetest. It's the moment right before it releases from the vine and drops to the ground, and not a minute sooner. It's best to have your hand there waiting. It doesn't help to pull or yank or twist. Those berries are guaranteed sour.

So it is with all things.

Instead of waiting for the perfect blackberries everyday, I'm hitting up the golden plum tree where every one is as sweet as the next!

I've been to galleries, but not museums yet. Been to the Bay but not the beach. I have two weeks left in northern California -- guess I better get busy!