Ten years ago I planted six blueberry bushes on a hill in the side yard. They never seemed to like our heavy red clay.

The blueberries never were many either, though they were big and tasty. Birds got most of them anyway.

Only one survives today, and it's scraggly.

But going out just past dawn the other day and seeing its five remaining leaves, bright red and frosted, put the whole experience in a fresh light.