Rubus idaeus

Between God and Adam's outstretched crooked fingers, lit by the silver sun, I have always imagined a raspberry. Its form is unlikely, even in our earthly world; a tapered chalice forged from plump droplets, each containing a crucial seed. And red like blood. Not like the blood of martyrs--the dark stain spreading across the tunic--but red like the blood of life that flows through us all and brightens our cheeks when we steal a glance across the room and our eyes are met by a playful smile.

I see God int the raspberry's unity; I see man in its forms. Whether selected for size or flavor, sheen or hue, the raspberry remains true and incorruptible. This Creation, sculpted and scattered by the human hand, is ultimately freer than you or me or the Lord in the sky because it has a more important blessing: the Wild. When we are gone, and our God with us, the raspberry will let nature take her back into her fold, changing form and flavor to please birds more princely than we.