In the Morning :: Day 10

My family loves cherries. Not because they are a fabulous fruit (although they are sweet and juicy), or because you can do tricks with them (earrings, catching them in you mouth, pit spitting competitions, ...), not even because of the color (I'd love to capture it and paint it on my walls). They love them because they remind them of being little. Of the hours spent sitting in the crook of a branch lost in the pages of a book. Of using its branches to gain the higher ground of the rooftop. Of tea parties in it's shade. Of night spent in tents and picking midnight snacks. Of sling shot ammunition. Of scrapes and scratches and climbing and falling and swinging/ dangling in midair before dropping to the ground. The tree was right outside the girls' window and they often kept their curtains pulled in the spring to watch the bare branches turn into a flurry of white blossoms and listen to the bees hum happily about their work.
I set out a bowl of cherries and the stories begin to pour out of them. "Remember when you ..." "Remember that night..." "Remember how we..." They laugh, wink, give knowing smiles, and the chatter goes on and on; All because of this fabulous, tricky, beautifully colored fruit!