Blackberries & Grace

I wasn't in the mood for human contact.

I'd broken wide open before reaching the trailhead,
grieving all kinds of loss. Everything felt sharp.
Heavy. Private.

But when M asked if I wanted to go pick blackberries,
something told me not to say no.

So I didn't. And I'm glad.

She's maybe ten years older than me. Not old, I'm not young.
But she carries that bright, spry energy that feels timeless.
Joyful. Warm. Contagious in the best way.

We walked together, made small talk, praised the fog and the wind.
Apparently, we both like the trail best when it feels wild.

When we reached the blackberry patch,
I kept her dog company as she wandered off into the brambles.

I watched her go, eyes lit up, pure delight on her face.
Like she was discovering this for the first time...
A grown woman marveling at the magic,
of finding something sweet in the wild.

It hit me.

Just an hour earlier, I'd been grieving
the fact that I never really got to feel that.
If I ever did, it was swallowed up by the fight-or-flight,
the hyper-vigilance I've lived in since I was four.

As a child, joy rarely got through the static.
But here it was—unannounced, spontaneous,
offered by someone I barely knew.

Who says the universe doesn't provide?
You just have to be open to it.

Before I even stepped out of the car,
I'd decided I needed to grind through my shit alone.
Push through. Go hard. Full send.

But today, I got to just be.
To see.
To experience.
To connect.

* * *

→ Related: Connection, Not Completion
→ Also: The Paradox of Necessary Grief

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