When I was a little girl, we lived in a newly built house in a newly developed subdivision. My parents’ bathroom was big enough to have a slumber party in, there was an unpainted wooden fence surrounding the backyard, and the trees were only as tall as my father. It was as ordinary a place as you could imagine.
Except…There was a little bit of magic in the front yard. Right outside the front door, in a carefully planned flowerbed, a wild blackberry vine popped up. Unexpected. Untamed. And, to a six-year-old, ripe with possibility.
Maybe that’s why I love blackberries so much. Despite the fact that they’re less sweet than blueberries or strawberries, they’re rivaled only by the latter in the “my favorite berry” category. Because while they might be a little on the sour side, and they might have crunchier seeds than I’d like, they also still taste the same to me as they did then: unexpected. untamed. ripe with possibilities.
Not a bad taste for a weekend morning.
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