Raspberries   I know what I want in late July — what to look for on a hot afternoon. I’ll dog it up the hill, taking the shortcut —   I’ve been here before. The last time I came it was good, this time will be better. But they have to be ready: blood-red, inflamed   with summer, succulent, sweet. There’s an art to picking the good ones, playing the game like you really mean it. The best ones part   with a touch into my palm and soon they’re piled up high — so what if I eat them, whose heart would it break? They’re better for being wild.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont August 2019