Aki, her back to me and the berry patch, watches a nearby path. I’d like to think she is on guard duty. She never has to prove herself as only mosquitos threaten on this mountain meadow.

Perhaps it’s the result of a high summer of sunshine and warmth, or just luck. but big blue globes hang from many of these dwarf blueberry bushes. They taste sweet, unlike their cousins that grow on larger plants under old growth forest canopies. Mixed in I find the segmented, orange fruit of cloudberries. We once picked them and the low bush blues on the Kuskokwim River tundra. These mountain berries taste almost as good.

I pick for an hour before moving on, boots soaked by the saturated muskeg meadow, mind suffused with the peace that comes from meditation, effortless playing of music, and picking berries.  My harvest will work its magic again in the morning, making a feast out of Scottish oatmeal and milk.