Blueberry Air

                 
                                  BLUEBERRY  AIR         

When I was young
as young as Spring,
I discovered the world
at my grandmother's farm

The meadows were sweet
they smelled like yellow
I tasted their daisies
I heard the grass sing.

I danced with the wind
we toppled and tumbled
our arms embracing
the jasmine and oak.

I laughed at the wind
She laughed ever higher
My ears reaching out
as she lovingly spoke.

My senses were reeling
my nostrils flared
my head spinning, spinning
with delirious flight.

I knew in my childhood
I'd never again
be filled with the fragrance
of blueberry air.


When I was young,
as young as April,
I found my world
at Grandmother's house.

The wooden floors
were cool and smooth
striped and patterned
with rays of sun.

White curtains, like dove's wings,
fluttered and floated
rising and lighting,
suspended in flight.

I'd sit in the kitchen
upon my high stool
surrounded by reflections
on white cupboards and counters

Reflections of women-
women in aprons
baking and brewing
wondrous delights.

The toasty heat,
the lilting aroma
held me captive
I had to drool.

My grandmother's muffins
accented it all,
filling my world with
Blueberry Air.





I actually wrote this about 30 years ago while I was
working in a Bridal Shop in Vegas. I feverishly jotted it down
on scrap paper between customers. Most writers know
what it's like to get sparks of ideas that you HAVE to
write down immediately before they escape.
Mona