Tumbledown Farmer spilled blood (his own) and gathered blackberries (his own) this morning in a pre-dawn battle with the mosquitoes. [Image: Blackberry Picking] His ears swilled the shrill hum of these millenia-old dive bombers as he threaded his arm into the serrated teeth of the bramble branches. (They aren't vines, I tell you.) Each dew laden, pinot thirst quencher plucked from the maw of the red-red religious thief (cardinal) popped into his mouth. Taste the sweet-tart fruit of a stolen moment after ten thousands of years of progress...if you still can. [Image: Blackberry Picking]
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