Blueberry Picking
We needed this day
to remind us of abundance,
of cyclical renewal—
the mixture of sun and clouds,
the air breathable for once,
the wild clematis a white
lace thick with bees.
The drive to the farm leads
up a wooded hill past
wheat fields turned golden,
hollyhocks, mallows, poppies,
the barn where swallows
curl by overhead.
The blueberry picking
is good and children’s voices
call out delight to family
in the next row as they
discover the prize.
Afterwards we walk the path
that looks out toward the river,
gleaning more time in this place,
a moment of pause away from
all that troubles this summer—
the smoke and heat and floods.
Charlotte Melin grew up in Indiana and returns to visit. Recently retired from the University of Minnesota, she lives in Northfield and has published widely about German poetry, the environmental humanities, and teaching.