Blueberries

Opaque gray-blue,
polished purple-black,
they are hidden in clear view
along the rocky mountain path.

I savor the complexity of tastes
stored within their tough skins.
Sweet and spicy,
their deep flavor is rooted
in the warmth of the sun,
harsh wind and rain,
volcanic ash of the soil,
and there is an essence
of something ancient
that I recognize
but do not understand.

Yet, the bear in me
seems to know it instinctively.
I pluck and pluck
the potent morsels,
hoping that I can store them
within my own tough skin
in order to survive
the vast coldness
of this world.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith