Tuesday, June 29, 2010



After waiting and pruning and transplanting and trying to pick a handful in a mosquito storm, a cool breeze blew enough bloodsuckers away that I finally braved the raspberry patch.

Old wood lay low, laden with scrumptious fruit. It finally offered a gift.

I ate each slowly, savoring the firstfruit.

This fact of nature holds true for me, too. With maturity comes fruit. Old wood bears the best fruit.

And He who planted me and prunes me, savors my fruit.