mulberries in Staples parking lot are going off. black & white fruits make jam smear on the sidewalk and down the grassy bank. i pick enough to start a batch of honeywine. the white berries are fat and pale like grubs, the ripest gone slightly pink. there’s a line of cars leading up to the stoplight; i offer berries through an open window to a woman and baby. ( babies look like grubs ! )
there’s so much fruit here; i linger wondering if i can tip someone off to the bounty ? i’m not catching eyes with anyone. hey, there’s someone in a tree–a man with a bag, and he’s picking. i tell him there’s good picking on the other side of the lot, farther from the traffic. i didn’t climb, so there’s still plenty to bring down.
i head over to the library for some lavender blossoms. there’s an abandoned herb garden here, and i’m thinking i’ll batch lavender with mulberries and summer thistle honey–this will be a cordial for quiet company, evenings, sensitive beings.