Sunlight streaming through rustling branches
Age old bark curling beneath youthful finger tips
Juice erupting between teeth, crimson upon lip
Pure, unadulterated tastes of summer.
My mother had the same bowl of cherries for almost 13 years. Always they sat on the counter next to the phone, innocent as sin. Their color never wavered, ripeness never spoiled. Year after year they sat, waiting to be devoured, yet were never consumed.
That is until my friend laid tempted eyes upon them. Though lightly covered with dust, they held her spellbound.
“Oh my gosh cherries! At this time of year?” We all jumped at her sudden exclamation. She all but ran to the counter.
“Um, What?” I said eyebrows raised, ” I didn’t even know we had cherries?”
“Yeah they’re right here.” She was already reaching across the counter, hand grasping a succulent treat.
Up the cherry flew into her open mouth as realization dawned upon me.
“Wait no!” I said, too late.
She bit down, waiting for a tender explosion of cherry liquor to fill her mouth. It never happened.
CRACK! Went the cherry.