interview with a cranberry
This is the day, the very moment, for the best of the wild, wildly lost cranberries.
Hiding under lichen, alongside bright berry poseurs, in the bracken of gnarly trees, I know they hope to be found.
(Those tart little things, winking and ducking.)
For all their shyness they're soon chattering non-stop, as most introverts do when alone with you and a cup of coffee.
At the foot of the jack pine, in the toadstool's shadow we talk and talk.
And if it weren't for the darkening sky, and the wood rain slipping down my back, the cold of dusk dulling my fingers, we'd still be there, berries prattling on, ...
... I in bucket rhapsody.