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raspberry pie
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raspberry pie Wild raspberries grow in bushes along the edge of woodlands, seeking sunlight to ripen the fruit. The thick foliage is a lush green, with a slight fuzz that prickles the skin, the twigs covered in small snappish thorns to protect the precious berries. But to pick the berries you can’t wear gloves, you need to roll the berry from the husk and gloves are too bulky to allow that slide of the fingers. She winced often as her tin pail filled with red, smiling only when it was near to overflowing and she could finally pick for her tongue that craved the tart sweetness. Sitting down, legs wrapped under her, elbows on the still<b> damp </font></b>earth, she turned her face to the sky and watched the clouds chase each other morphing as they ran toward the tree line on the far side of the meadow. I love this land, she said out loud, then laughed. Tomorrow she’d pick more, enough for jam. Today, a pie had drifted into her mind after she’d washed out the milk cans and she just couldn’t abide the idea of an apple pie…not yet. Maybe by fall. Then it would be nearly 6 months since he left. Lifting herself from the ground, she could feel the baby shift inside her and her hand moved to support her growing belly. Odd how things keep growing and moving along even when it seems as if the whole world should have stopped and stood still. When her mama passed over, she thought she’d never get past that pain but in time, she’d worn it down to a rock that she carried in her pocket and now she only touched it maybe five or twenty times a day. Though she still said “mornin’ and ‘good night” to her after she was done with her prayers. Almost home, she looked back at the tree line and marked her spot in her mind. She’d start there tomorrow. The house welcomed her in. The shifted but did not move more than that. She put the kettle on to boil and pulled down the flour and sugar canisters from the top shelf of the cupboard. As she mixed the dough for the crust her mind drifted…… She fed the stove with firewood and waited until the temperature steadied; no on likes burnt pie. As she leaned over to place the finished creation inside the stove, the door was flung open and slammed into the wall. She dropped the pie, berries splashing like blood across the floor. She slipped, fell, her hands now covered in red; she could feel the heat from the stove on her back. Strong arms pulled her hard and fast away from the stove. No sounds escaped her, her eyes were frozen on the man. Damn, he said, I was sort of hoping for pie. She wept into his shirt, swatting him as he carried her to the table and set her on the edge. I’ll make you one tomorrow, she sobbed. That’ll do just fine. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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Looks good
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Raspberry pie.....mmmmm......something else to look forward to....
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He'd better have cleaned up the mess!  and given her sweet loving besides.Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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That bastard! Ruined a perfectly good pie!  Vive La Difference
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A little less pie violence would nice, that is kind of traumatizing.  Vive La Difference
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Good thing it wasn't strawberry rhubarb or I would have to report him.  Vive La Difference
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this is the comment tht means i posted. and i do this why??? You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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man you guys are tough finally a happy ending and all you do is complain about the damn pie You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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Love this!! I LOVE your stories SO much!! I love your writing SO much! I am just in AWE of your talent, my dear! 
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