Blueberry Mornings

I like cool summer mornings. I like the clarity of the light. I like the optimism of the birdsongs. I like the settled freedom of calm air. So, other than an encounter with the occasional dew-strung spider web, what is not to like about picking blueberries?

And that is how I've been able to spend my early mornings of late, picking a cup of breakfast. Today's repast had been pre-washed by midnight thunderstorms, the berries mostly at shoulder-height, just ripe for the plucking.

The gardening of Eden must have been this easy. No sweat. No thorns. No curse.

Amid all these enjoyments, it occurred to me that blueberries are not blue; not really. The smallest ones were acid green, later adding flecks of vermillion. The maturing berries grew in successively deepening wines until they reached an indigo darkness. Then they lightened again in full ripeness. At best, a blueberry is bluish.

There ought to be a word!
And as it turns out, there is. A couple of them.

Caesious – being the color of lavender; with a slight blush of gray. This word also has the distinction of using all the vowels in order!

Glaucous – this botanical term refers to the waxy grayish-bluish-whitish coating. Grapes, plums, and blueberries are all glaucous.