Another Blackberry Winter

Last evening on the drive home, I noticed a patch of what looked like blackberries blooming. Being in tune with that sort of thing, I reasoned that they must be wild roses. There was only the one clump, you see. No other blackberries were blooming. And we'd had no cold nights yet, either. No, what we southerners call, blackberry winter.

The sighting did prompt me to consult the forecast when I got home. Lo and behold, the next day (now today) was to be much chillier, with a high in the sixties and low in the forties.

How was it that little clump of blackberry bushes knew, a day before colder weather would arrive, that it was coming? How did it know that it was time to bloom, before all the others?

Southern Sky, April 2012

Today I woke to a cloudy, cool day, one that saw me dressed in three-quarter sleeves, rather than sleeveless, and in sneakers rather than sandals. It was a glorious day, with a sky full of plump, juicy clouds that smelled of rain and formed battle lines across the horizon in every direction I turned, punctuated here and there by slashes of robin's egg blue.

I ventured along a different stretch of highway, this time heading east, rather than north. Still within the city limits, I spied them: brambles of blackberries in full bloom. Driving for miles, they graced both sides of the road, whole fields and power lines full of rambling white mounds, these lovely flowers that only yesterday weren't blooming, and in a few months will feed the critters and the birds.

Blackberries in Bloom Along the Highway, April 2012

Such are the mysteries of life, those things that convince me there is a God. Call it Higher Power, Jehovah, God, Allah. Call it what you would. But I can't help but think that He/She Almighty has a hand in the proverbial pot.

Happy Rebirth, Olivia J. Herrell