Sweet as Raspberries

Raspberries

As the night grew later, Frodo flipped the roast chicken he was cooking. Sam was still out in the garden, as were Frodo's thoughts. Sam didn't normally stay this late. Frodo would have offered to help if he hadn't had the chicken to watch over.

Just then, the pan sizzled suddenly and smoke streamed up. The chicken was burnt. Frodo gingerly tried to flip it again, but for little use. The back was charred too badly to eat, and the blemish was too big to cut away. The door creaked open and Sam entered, his hands covered in dirt. 

He exhaled and smiled. He was carrying a small basket and put it on the table. "I've picked some raspberries, Mr. Frodo. Pardon my doing so, but if they stayed on the bush another day they'd fall on their own."
"Thank you, Sam, these look delicious."

And they did. The raspberries were at their peak, red and plump. Frodo quickly washed them - he hadn't had dinner yet and was ravenous. "Would you like some tea? It's really hot out."

"That'd be much appreciated." Sam smelled the chicken. "Did something burn?"

"Yes," said Frodo. "it's a blessing you had the raspberries. I got lost in my thoughts and burned the dinner I was making." 

Frodo poured a cup of tea for Sam (who cleaned his hands) and himself and nibbled on the raspberries in a comfortable silence until the last light of day had long since faded over the horizon.