They glowed in the early evening light.
Black and golden raspberries, warmed by the afternoon haze.
I was entranced by the way the yellows and apricots of the golden raspberries seemed to capture and hold the sunlight.
And the way the black raspberries' deep purple melted into shades of eggplant, mulberry and burgundy.
We could have eaten them with softly whipped cream as part of a fool or tossed them with sugar.
Instead, we devoured each berry naked, savouring each explosive burst of sweet flavour, until there was nothing left of them but their memory on our stained fingers and lips.