Ann Arbor Review
INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
I hold up the jewel-filled jar,
Looking at the light glowing through the homemade jam.
In its' raspberry hue,
I see memories of summers gone by.
I am a child again, picking the sweet,
Wild fruits of Northern Michigan.
I see family, laughing,
Eating as many as we pick...
...wild blueberries in July,
Along dusty dirt roads that follow power lines.
...thick bunches of blackberries,
Hanging like grapes, in the hot month of August.
I see my daughter's delight the first time she ate
A Little Bear Lake raspberry, staining her tiny fingers and mouth.
I see myself in her happy face,
Remembering the joy of Up North with my mother.
I see my Grandmother, Aunt, and Mother,
Canning the fruits of our labors.
I remember, and I hold close those memories;
They are my legacy to my daughter.
I hear her laughter, and I remember that there are
Memories yet to be made with that beautiful jar of summer.
Simple are the days when we look at the sky and just know it's blue.
Simple is our life when we forget the world around us and become
submerged in the
passing of a butterfly, mesmerized by its gossamer flight.
Simple is a lazy summer day, when all we want to do is lay in a
seeing shapes in the clouds.
Simple is the way we, as children, accept everyone we meet,
believing that they will be our friend.
Simple is the fact that God never questions us, but accepts us,
even when we question him.
But for the simple things, we would worry ourselves into a frenzy
and be caught up in trivial pursuits that give us nothing.
Simple things are what make us stop and gather our thoughts,
feeling refreshed and able to go on with the complexities of life.
Thank God that he gives us simple things to give us meaning.
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