“For the ignorant, old age is winter. 
For the learned, it is the harvest.” Hasidic saying.

(For Aroon)

Toiling in blueberries with 
shovel and saw we tend 
our orchard in winter when
fruit is more dream
than tangible touch or taste
and we count chill hours and 
question rain and compost
and endless weeding.

In spring bees flutter among 
blooms and we exhale 
at the vision but worry
over worms and drought and
late frosts that could drop
hard green fruit and
leaves into brown piles
at our wearying feet.

Cries of jays and crows rise 
loud and ferocious and we 
think of snakes weaving 
between boughs but when 
we turn we see
a red fox nibbling berries 
on low bushes while birds cry 
their outrage at the theft.

In summer berries heavy 
and dark with sugars 
draw pickers with buckets and
ready mouths and the lure of 
fresh sweet food right
in front of us for the 
effort of reaching
out and gathering in.