This afternoon, just past the tangle of hedge where the blackberries have started to ripen, I noticed someone sitting low, sketchbook balanced on their knees. A sleeve brushed with paint caught the sun, the sort of blue you’d expect in sky rather than fabric.

They didn’t look up long, just enough to nod and smile, before bending back to the page as though the hedge itself had secrets to tell. I smiled back then carried on, basket light with letters, but the thought stayed with me — the idea of drawing brambles as though they were something rare. I felt inspired to write this:

Brambles catch the breeze,
inked in thorns yet soft with fruit—
summer scribbles on.