Berry Harvest

As I walked out to pick blackberries,
I startled a cardinal and two indigo buntings.
I barely avoided touching a honeybee.
The dog came around to see what I was doing.

Green vines draped in front of me,
Tall green weeds behind,
I picked the sun-ripened berries,
And ate some and saved some and lost some.

This was what I once expected farming to be:
The natural world around, with
Delicious fruit in abundance, and
Minimal maintenance, needing only harvest.

So, with this first taste of what I expected from farming,
What to do? Claim it as a harbinger of good things to come?
Rage that a half decade has passed,
And all we have to show are some ephemeral berries?

Or maybe I could spend every waking moment
Rescuing every possible berry, until I hate the outdoors
And my life. No … I think I’ll eat what I please with thanksgiving
For this gift given, and no expectation for the future.