The mulberry tree is heavy with deep purple fruits, each day more ripen and are ready for harvest by me and the many birds and squirrels and chipmunks who can climb the tree and the possum and raccoons and other small creatures who wait for them to fall.
I have three mulberry trees in my yard, and leave the other two entirely for the birds and other animals. This one, however, greets me as I walk down the steps from my deck, inspiring in all seasons.
But when the harvest is ready, as the berries slowly ripen, the branches reach lower and lower until their tips touch the ground, the berries are where I can simply reach out to pick them. No other tree I know of does this. I feel as if this mulberry wants me to have its berries.
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