By Meg Murray
When I was a child, I ate raspberries straight from the bush in the backyard of our small yellow house. I picked them from the plants before the birds could eat them. They were red, bumpy, and sweet.
Today, I counted the raspberries in the green plastic box and divided by three. Some for me, some for my daughter, and some for my grandson. Product of Mexico via California. They were rinsed, cold, and tangy.
When I’m gone—when this cancer finally takes me—I hope to be planted under a tree or buried in my grandchildren’s garden. Unburdened, growing, raspberried.
Love the word ‘raspberried’
Love the repetition of the three adjectives at the end of each paragraph. It binds the story and connects beginning to end, both literally and metaphorically. Nicely done.
Great read… loved the title and ending… kudos…
No deep comment. Just enjoyed it. Had a bit of a wow moment.
I loved this!
The circle of life and the life we circle. So lovely.
Loved this beautiful little story. Thanks so much for sharing it!