Poem for Thursday and Strawberry Picking

Strawberries
By Edwin Morgan

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

-------- 

Thursday was warm and sunny, after I woke up from a dream in which I was working on an X-Files crossover with Supernatural starring Jensen Ackles and when I pointed out that I thought his character should be dead, the writers told me to write a sex scene that would bring him back. (No, I have no idea!) The rest of the morning involved some photo stuff and some organizing stuff. And after lunch, I got to talk to my college roommate. 

We went to Redmond Town Center so I could get some things at the Bath & Body Works semiannual sale, plus we walked around a bit before getting milkshakes and stopping at Trader Joe's. Then we came home so I could get on my usual Thursday night fangirl chat, we ate dinner, we watched this week's Silo which is more nail-biting every week, and now we're watching some of the Warrior Nun endgame. Picking strawberries at Swans Trail Farms: