Relentless Raspberries

I used to love raspberries.

 I probably would have paid more for my house had I known it had raspberry patch in the backyard.

 I didn’t really discover them until spring, about six months after I moved in. I was thrilled.

 And I continued to be thrilled each year when the first ripe berries appeared.

 This year, I thought, was no different.

 Early in the summer, a few small berries appeared – enough to garnish breakfast at least once a week. And I was thrilled.

 Later in the summer, larger berries appeared – enough to garnish breakfast several times a week. And I was thrilled and grateful.

 Now there’s a mix of large and small berries – every day. Relentlessly.

Enough to garnish every breakfast and an occasional dessert. And they don’t stop coming. And I am no longer thrilled.

 I am sure that if Aesop had created fables about fruits, he would have come to some profound conclusion about my relentless raspberries. But he didn’t. And I haven’t – although there may be some analogies to American’s standard of living – but I’m too tired (and too full of raspberries) to figure it out.