Burnt Blueberries

I was on my way to visit Dylan, that lazy fuck who always has a beer in hand and Led Zeppelin blasting. Being a writer himself, we sit down, shoot the shit, and then words tend to come out. Occasionally, even good ones. But I had a couple to errands to run first. Some things that my little studio apartment needed. Mainly a surge protector, because hell if I want to risk my computer going up in flames considering the power dynamics in that place.

It took a minute or ten to find the surge protectors, and I had to fend off the flyer-bearers announcing sales. When I finally did, I was overwhelmed by the sheer glut of multi-plugged hydra-headed cable beasts to select from, everything from itty strips which looked like they might protect a flea from a stray arc of ESD and not much more, to behemoths priced at $200 guaranteed to keep your electrics from frying on the circuit even if the mother of all otherworldly lightning storms landed a direct hit on yer wires. I picked something reasonable, and proceeded out through the garden center.

I like garden centers. They are filled with plants. Not enough of the plants are edible, but that’s okay, there’s at least seed for such things, and after the glitz and flash of all the surge protectors, I needed something a little more peaceful.

That’s when I saw them. Little gardener that I am, I have an idea of what will and will not grow in Florida. The them that I saw belonged to more northern climes: blueberries. Blueberries who need cold winter kisses and a slow blush to spring, who need a good summer and a fair light fall to produce fruit. Blueberries in Broward County, Florida.

I asked the cashier about them.

“Oh yeah, the last batch we had all died. I thought I’d overwatered them. But we even had coffee trees a few months ago.”

Coffee. Which needs mountains. And less humidity.

Consumer glimmer, deck all your fruit trees and shrubs with your hundred styles of surge protector and let’s hire Britney Spears to sing their praises!

I had the brief notion of buying them out of blueberries and shipping them north, where they actually stood a chance— a desperate rescue for the poor doomed bushes. But my wallet’s not that fat and I can’t risk doing jail time on behalf of some Vacciniums.

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