the mystery of the blueberries

I am in the habit of hiking without worrying whether I reach the top of any mountain or not. I can’t decide if this shows a lack of ambition or a focus on the journey rather than the destination.

I’ve been doing that too, Julia says. Let’s break the habit and summit this mountain what do you say!? It had been so bright and warm when we left that I wore almost nothing but as we climb we find ourselves in a cloud.

I shiver and shiver and we finally reach the top but

we can only see a few feet in either direction and goosebumps rise on our skin like hills I’ll take your picture, Julia says. I smile uneasily and she says perfect. She likes to document things.

On the way down Julia asks me if I like girls and guys both. Mostly girls, I say, but it’s more because I tend to feel comfortable around and equal to women. It’s kind of political. I like to think body parts don’t determine what I want, I explain, wondering if this is true. She says body parts matter to her and I shiver. With numb fingers we pick blueberries and put them in old yogurt containers.

These berries are much less delicious and abundant than last year, she tells me. I wonder why. Maybe they knew we would just pick them and saw no point in growing fat and sweet. Or maybe the rains never came.

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