Passing On Of A Tradition

As a child, a Summer tradition was
the picking of ripe, sun-warmed
blackberries.

Hands and mouth stained purple.

Legs scratched raw from the battle
of the Blackberry Vines.

Skipping home with a bucket brimming
with the freshly plucked loot.

This evening I am taking my son on a
Blackberry picking quest.

We shall take our loot home and bake
it up in a Cobbler.

We shall dine on our fruit feast and toast
each other with whip cream spoons and
purple laced grins.

We shall a memory, create.