Thanks to spring blooms that fed the bees
that pollinated the flowers that produced fall’s fruit,
a gray squirrel dangles from hind legs, to pluck a ripe crabapple,
and nibble the food in its paws on a nearby branch.




In certain cultures, it might be improper to tell stories out of season.

Nature sharing can feel that way too.

But when some of the year’s last fruits hang from their branches, I can’t help but see a whole tree abloom like spring.

Culmination of our seasons, late fall’s crabapple makes even that floral expression seem present today.









For a brief moment after July’s flowers,  rubus phoenicolasius  fruit exploded over the land like some fleeting celestial event.  

But wineberry, related to blackberry and raspberry, is like any other plant:  firmly terrestrial.  Perhaps even doubly so.  Its arcing cane elegantly returns a furthest tip to the same ground, a few feet away from the earthen spot from which it sprung, rooting the beginning and end of itself in soil. 




 Still, there seems to be something extra to this doubly terrestrial bramble.  Rooting both ends in dirt, the plant can nonetheless seem untethered to earth.  Its three ovately-pointed leaves per stem collectively point elsewhere. Its perfectly elegant arc bristles with a combustible color complementing riotous-like redhaired clusters of stellar white flowers before exploding into fiery drupelets of fruit.  Each blossom and fruit, though fleeting, is frozen in photos like Hubble captures of dynamic deep space.

The plant’s groundedness does not contradict this impression.  Its rooting rather reminds us of something easily forgotten.  Looking to the ground, the fact astounds us:    Here we are out in the universe.