Michigan strawberries. I took the picture and wrote the poem last year. This year unfortunately the lemon balm crowded out all of the strawberries and I will have to replant some next year.
Strawberries of the Michigan summer.
In the coldness of winter, I think of strawberries.
in the stark, dark months of my Northern home.
Thoughts of these glad, freckled orbs of sweetness
amuse my sight, and awakens my palate.
Hope sustains me
When winter begins to loosen its embrace, the
Sharp emerald leaves of the new plants
cautiously ascend from the lethargic earth.
Spring haltingly ponders her way to our fleeting summer.
Delicate white blossoms rise to minute green buds.
Hope turns to anticipation
My heart quickens with delight. Yes!
Warm breezes will again drift in through open windows,
carrying the enchanting fragrance of strawberries.
My cheesecake recipe expects its crowning achievement
Anticipation turns to eagerness
I smile. Summer has begun her short march across the mitten.
Gently I place the ripened red globes of delight
into my awaiting basket.
The strawberries of the Michigan Summer have fulfilled their promise,
sweeping away Winter’s grey bleakness.
Hope turns to happiness