Blueberry

So close. So close. Falling in our hands as only a fruit at perfection. The thrust even in a solitary bush is to motion.

I am like a blueberry as are you. When we are ripe, we fall to enter those dark caverns of earthworms and earth; our seed to spend in Demeter’s garden.

When we are perfect we fall.

Everybody falls down Fowler.

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