sunlight in a jar

With a pop
a ghost is released
into the chill winter morning –
endless dry heat,
scent of pine and dust,
scratched arms and
purple stained hands –
a summer day,
carried on blackberry scent.

Jam is magic, like Dumbledore’s pensieve – every jar holds the day it was made, and the day the fruit was picked. Homemade jam isn’t just a way of preserving a harvest or getting something with a good strong flavour – it’s a way of storing memories and keeping a bit of summer safely stored away for when you need it, spread on toast, on a dark winter morning.   

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Filed under musings, poem

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