Sloe Gin

The clear weather of juniper
darkened into winter.
She fed gin to sloes
and sealed the glass container.

When I unscrewed it
I smelled the disturbed
tart stillness of a bush
rising through the pantry.

When I poured it
it had a cutting edge
and flamed
like Betelgeuse.

I drink to you
in smoke-mirled, blue-
black sloes, bitter
and dependable.
Seamus Heaney of course has the perfect poem for the moment. I picked lots of fat juicy and lip-curlingly tart sloes. Have pricked them, added the sugar and doused them with (non alcoholic) gin, given it all a shake and now put them in a darkened room. We shall see.
A rather nice day weatherwise after all the rain. We have both worked in the garden, me cutting back the massive briars that were encroaching the polytunnel and Himself strimming up and down the boreen. Everywhere a buzz with butterflies, bees and dragonflies. The swallows are doing acrobatics high up and are very chatty, on their way soon I guess

And has anyone else noticed that the views re blip seem to be unusually high?.