She weighed the strawberries.
Measured the sugar.
The wisdom of tradition whispered to her.
This is state of mind.
This is a way of being.
Her thoughts weighed heavy on her wrists.
She filled the jars
With the warmth of the sun.
The perfume of the crushed berries.
The blue she had grabbed from the sky.
The music of the wind across the fields.
This alchemy of jam.
This seeing things without distortion.
She placed a flower on Buddha.
This she thought is the zen of strawberry jam.