Potatoes and Blackberries

Digging up potatoes is satisfying,

When you put the fork into the ground and big spuds, baby spuds come up.

In the fresh summer air (a little muggy perhaps) you admire your roses and fuchsias against a blue or overcast sky.

A promise of rain or a little drizzle made by the moisture in the air refreshes the mind.

Going to the park — big, fat, shiny blackberries (in August already) which I collect in a little plastic Chinese box. I fill it to the brim with fruit. Getting juice on my fingers in the process.

A sea of green, in the park or garden, relaxes me and tasks go swimmingly, whether I am searching for runner beans, squinting carefully for it is green on green or pausing in the park to admire the garden that has been grown. A neatly mowed path, bright berries on the trees, buttercups, other yellow flowers, lavender, daffodils you make a wish on, pink flowers I don’t know the name of.

The thick leafiness of summer.