In recent weeks, I’ve been picking lots of blackberries. The nature area behind me is covered with blackberry bushes, free to anyone who is willing to plow into the bramble and avoid critters who live there. Because I LOVE blackberries: raw, jammin’, or over vanilla ice cream…I’ve perfected a successful system that involves gloves, clippers, and a large, opened cardboard box
In spending quiet time in such a beautiful setting, I became contemplative (as writers often do) and I weighed the evidence before me: Same bush, same sunshine, same moisture… but each bush is covered in berries that are in all different stages of ripening. The berries seem to set on at about the same time, but each ripens at its own speed, even on the same plant, even on the very same branch.
At any given time, late June to early August, one can find some berries ripe and ready!…bursting with deep purple hued, softly plump little drupelets, while others are green or reddish in color, firm to the touch (and really really tart! if tasted, I might add).
People are like that, don’t you think? Same age, similar environments. Sometimes originate from the very same “vine” even… but different ripening schedules.
I’m giving up trying to figure out how/why some folks seem to progress faster or slower than others to that mature, purple hued glow.
I’m striving for mindfulness, for acceptance – of others, of myself.
We ripen on our own schedule.