Eating Cherries


I absolutely love that summertime feeling.  You know the one?  When the sun is shining and it feels warm enough to heat your bones. The sky glows with hope, and everyone you meet has a spring in their step, and a smile on their face.  Well, almost everyone.

The thing is, where I live you can never bank on this sensation in the summer months.  We spend weeks prior to the official start of summer, full of expectation. Then the topic of conversation, which starts around mid April, begins to swerve slightly to the possibility of it being a ‘good summer’.  Of course someone, somewhere will inevitably make a reference to a bygone year, when it truly was a hot one.  Usually the summer of ’76, which just happens to be the first year our family had a summer holiday abroad.

And with this expectation, comes the delight of summer fruits.  All through the winter, and even into spring, we sashay around the fruits on offer, and as enjoyable as they are, by the time strawberries start to show their faces it’s a blessed relief. Not that I have anything against apples, pears, oranges and the like, but the rosy red berries, when they begin to make an appearance, are always an indication that we have officially strolled into summer.  Even when it’s pouring with rain.

So today, in honour of the sunshine and all things summer, we indulged in one of my favourite fruits for the first time.  Cherries.  Plump, deep red, sweet succulent spheres of juicy fabulousness that insist on staining your fingers, face and clothes with absolute gay abandon.

Therefore, it is in honour of this glorious fruit that I have dedicated todays post. Thank-you cherries, you’ve made my day.  And to all those birds that eat our own cherries from the cherry tree at the bottom of the garden before we even get a look in, enjoy.

Generous to a fault, me.

*polishes halo*


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