Saturday, 23 August 2008

Up the road, afternoon, picking blackberries.

A brown butterfly sways sleepily on a ripe cluster, proboscis plunged into a soft berry, sucking dark juice. Alive for a season, lost in blissful drunkenness, I leave it in peace.

2 comments:

Crafty Green Poet said...

oh that's wonderful...

Bee said...

Your words have so much sensual impact! The image really comes alive.

We have lots of blissful drunkenness here, too -- of the butterfly and the human sort. This morning we climbed a steep hill and I was scratched by brambles absolutely covered with clusters of pinkish berries. None ripe as of yet.