a poem about my day

Pushing the pram against the wind,

the wind pushes back

and presses an insect against my chest

like a tiny brooch.

spring

The mulberry tree in our front garden is fruiting and the birds and I are racing to get the ripe fruit first. If you've never tasted mulberries, they have a subtle sweet flavour that makes me think of greenness and  growing. The taste is evocative for me; my great-aunt and -uncle had a mulberry tree in their huge (in my memory, at least) back yard. I have a clear memory of standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, crushing mulberries in my mouth so that the juice ran down my chin, so I could see what I'd look like as a vampire. Clearly Peanut would be a very messy vampire.