Picking Berries

It is eight in the morning on a Saturday, and our dog Yara and I are walking around the garden. We just fed the birds, and gave them fresh water, as it is going to be another hot summer day, and we are enjoying the sparkling coat of dew on all the plants and flowers. The daisies look especially enchanting as the dew beads add a touch of elegance to their soft petals. I walk through the arbor to the fruit bushes, and start eating the red currants. The sky overhead is a liquid turquoise, and the small  currants shine red against their three part mint green leaves that the light goes through like a flashlight on canvas. I am mesmerized by the beauty of the light and colors playing with each other. The currants taste tart and sweet, and feel   minuscule in my fingers compared to the meatier raspberries and strawberries Yara and I were harvesting earlier. The rhythmic repetition of picking the small red berries, admiring the brilliance of thei light against the blindingly bright blue summer sky, the soft feel of the fresh green leaves, the gentle breeze blowing through my hair, it filled me with a sense of bliss, of being in a capsule where I was not beating time, or living it linearly, but I was time. I breathed in the sweet, quiet air, and just let myself be part of the morning garden's glory. This was heaven, or as close as I think I will come to it in this dimension. It was just me and Yara, who was snoozing among the young pumpkin plants, and it felt like paradise, with the birds happily singing around us, and an ocean otherwise, of sweet, sweet silence. Every one was still asleep it sounded like, and I knew this was my moment, before the cars started, before the unhappy dogs on the next street over started their tragic barking and howling that every one but me ignored, before my husband and son woke up, and turned on their music and their computers, before I had to go in the house and make my own noise, with the washing machine, the dishwasher, the TV as I watched the morning news, before the whole automaton syndrome kicked in for one more day. Plus, oh joy, the annual lake boat races were this weekend, when Hydro foils that make enough noise to shake our walls, terrorize the neighborhood for two days. It is of course, always the hottest weekend of the year, so it is not only a challenge to drown out the noise, but to keep our wood frame houses cool. I bet all the frogs and ducks and fish and birds that live in and by the lake hate this weekend as much as I do. But, this morning , in my garden, peace was there, and for that wonderful space in time, I was in paradise, and that makes me feel like the happiest, freest, luckiest woman alive this Saturday morning.