Picking Blackberries

If I could understand what draws me here
Evening by evening calling me away
Perhaps I could know better all impulses
Impelling me to love or hate or laugh.

I say it is for berries ripe and heavy
And hanging on the stem awaiting me,
Their darkness beautiful against the green leaves;
All warm and soft and succulent to eat.

The color of the red, unripened berries
Against the green of leaves and blue of sky!
The rich, sweet darkness of the ones I gather,
Falling with tender fatness in my hand...

So ripe, so sweet they crush and stain my fingers
If I do not pick gently and with care.
The canes all clothed with thorns to make me careful
And slow, and mindful as my basket fills.

Yet still I do not know what draws me here,
Evening by evening calling me away.
It is something intangible, yet solid
Buried beneath the surface of my skin.

The scents here make me heady with much pleasure.
That warm, gold scent of fading summer flowers
Almost assaults me as I wade through grasses
Shoulder-high and still warm from the sun.

When ducking in among the canes and brambles
There is the scent of earth where it is cool;
The scent of places sheltered from the hot sun
Where I expect to find a nest or den.

I know that there are creatures all around me
I feel their eyes upon me and I long
To watch them as they have their private pleasures,
As they are watching me while I have mine.

I do not really wish to fill my basket,
I want the sun to linger through the trees
So I can go on picking smooth, warm berries
In this rich, humid air of summertime.

The sweat upon my body trickles slowly,
And my hot smell is mingled in the air
With flower and earth and fruit and sun-warmed grasses.
A strange concoction that befits the hour.

The heat itself is quite a thing of beauty
Oppressive to my skin, yet full of life.
So rich and moist and full and ripe as berries,
So heavy - the air has almost taken form.

I do not understand what draws me here,
Evening by evening calling me away.
What makes me revel in the heat and fullness
And warm, dark sweetness of the berry time?

The fireflies are winking at me softly
And as the sun has gone so, too, must I.
I leave with basket and soul full of sweetness,
The warm, dark berries of the summertime.