Berry Stains

I was cutting fruit to take along tomorrow, to pack into a cooler so we would have cold, sweet things to sustain as as we drove.

Pineapple first, golden chunks so juicy and inviting, I had to take a morsel into my mouth and taste the sweetness, feel the sharpness.

Grapes next, no cutting but rather plucking them from the stems, seedless red globes like little juicy bullets, firm, near to bursting. One found its way into my mouth, so lovely.

Watermelon followed, dripping chunks cut smaller, bite sized. I like to suck on watermelon chunks, savor them slowly.

Finally, the strawberries. Succulent, scarlet, sweet and a little tart, I hulled them, sliced them in half, dropped the jewels into a container. Oh, how I wish I could transcribe the fragrance of fresh berries into words. My fingers were wet, covered with strawberry stains, and I had to lick them, one by one, inhale the scent as I did.

Food should be sensual, sensory, sacred. It had become habit, chore, something to be got done, of late...but I was reminded of what a wonder is fresh produce, of how fine it is to harvest and devour what nature has made perfect on her own, without processing, refining, or chemicals. How grand to have berry juice to suck from my fingers, sweet simplicity...