Jam Tomorrow.

I'd noticed that it was a good year for bilberries, so I set off with a couple of plastic containers. I've never seen as many as were on the bushes today. It reminded be of when I was a child on the moorland fringes of Lancashire: before the days of plastic bags and boxes, we would take sugar bags - in those days they were very heavy and lined with a strong blue paper that would withstand the sticky juice. We always called them Wimberries - a local name used in some areas, I think. 
There's something special about parting the fresh green leaves and exposing the deep indigo berries with their soft bloom, and picking the tiny juicy fruits, staining your fingers deep red, as some inevitable pop between them. (see extra)
I managed to pick a couple of pounds, and also inspired two sets of kids out walking with there mums, to stop and pick too.  
It's been a long time since I've had enough to make it worthwhile to make jam, but I think that that will be their destiny tomorrow.
The blooms of poppies in the oilseed rape field that I passed on my way are now coming to an end but there are still a few vivid reds amongst the ripening seed pods.