less than half the arc

for the dVerse prompt “always in season”:

The last of the summer has been scraped from the jar,
the last of the sweet purple-black stains
are dissolved away in the washing-up water,
and the last of the scent of heat and dust and musk
dissipates in the fresh spring air.

And so the memory of blackberry season is gone.
Gone out of sight, and out of mind,
hidden more than half a year away,
behind more than half the arc of an orbit past.

But the days lengthen,
the brambles unfurl their leaves,
and soon the tiny buds will form and swell.
And as the arc-length ahead shortens,
the anticipation of blackberry season begins.

I finished the last jar of blackberry jam a few days ago, so this prompt to write about fruit felt timely. I’ve written about blackberrying and blackberry jam before. I’ve always loved blackberrying, the irresistible plump, sweet fruit, the musky scent of blackberries filling the house during jam making, and the jars lined up in the pantry holding those summer days safely… just another 5 months to blackberry season!Β Β 


Filed under poem

22 responses to “less than half the arc

  1. eqiunox
    time to jump like
    a sly fox
    dine on lox
    and enjoy
    the day
    it now is all anyone has~

  2. As the world turns / as the seasons change … now in Oregon, our days shorten. I love the “feel” of your poem, it’s beautiful.

  3. You had me at the first line “The last of the summer has been scraped from the jar” and I like the way your poem brings hope and anticipation for another season of blackberries. One jam I haven’t attempted…..yet.

  4. Beverly Crawford

    Aside from blackberry jam, my mother judiciously canned blackberries for blackberry pie ini mid-winter. What a treat!

  5. I would have loved to have some blackberries… one of my favorite berries for jam. I think I will make some from supermarket frozen berries.

  6. Love this, Kate. Our blackberry jam is carefully spread (pardon the pun) through the year, trying to get us to the next season. Because no bought blackberry jam every comes close to the homemade stuff. It’s harder and harder to find bushes that haven’t been poisoned. Last summer, we met up with our extended family at the same bushes without planning it. Anyway, that’s all irrelevant to your lovely poem. Like Mish, I love the opening and like Helen, I love the feeling. It’s both nostalgic and optimistic. It’s a real celebration of the seasons and the different gifts they bring.

    • Thank you Worms πŸ™‚
      Don’t tell anyone else, but the best blackberrying spots near Canberra are on the edge of Lake George where the rest area below the lookout is and around the derelict rest area at the winery turnoff on the federal hwy a few km south of Collector. πŸ˜‰ The latter is my favourite because the overgrown copses of European trees and giant pines and collapsed picnic tables give it a surreal post-apocalyptic feel.
      I think the unplanned meeting of extended family is lovely. πŸ™‚

  7. Vandana Sharma

    The endings lead to new beginnings as summer melts away into fall

  8. And so it goes 😌
    Lovely, Kate.


  9. writingwhatnots

    We’ve been blackberry picking in Dorset last week- the berries seem small this year, but they’re still tasty. There’s something about picking from the hedgerows, feeling closer to nature, savouring the taste …

  10. sanaarizvi

    This poem is a feast for the senses! I especially love; “and the last of the scent of heat and dust and musk dissipates in the fresh spring air.”πŸ’πŸ’

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