or not. That was the question that I woke up with on my mind this morning. Not world peace. Not the latest evangelical debate. Not a reality show.
I lay in bed and wondered if I should get up and go early to pick blueberries before the heat swooped in and caused me to wilt. I am a precious flower.
Husband had an early morning meeting so that roused me out of the bed to go and walk on the treadmill. I owed myself 20 minutes from my agenda of the other day. I put in 25 so my list gets a check with a smiley face. It's the little things.
Since I was already sweaty and the boys can cook their own breakfasts these days, I decided to charge ahead with a modicum of spontaneity. Letting Chess know where I was going, I was out the door to pick blueberries.
I was entirely alone among the bushes. An occasional bird would make her irritation known that her breakfast was filling my buckets. An occasional spider would hitch a ride on a blueberry to my wrist. It was me and the blueberries.
I don't like to pick strawberries. I don't mind picking green beans. Picking okra can be a chore. Picking squash can be right painful. But picking blueberries is my favorite. Holding the clusters and rolling those blue orbs into the bucket with a plink and plunk--if I believed in zen, that would be it.
I do not remember what I thought about. I just picked blueberries. Less than an hour later my harvest was 7.7 lbs of delicious.
Now I am enjoying a mixed berry smoothie for a late breakfast. I do not know what the day will turn out to be, but so far the morning has been sweet. I'm glad the blueberries beckoned.