Sweeter Than Cherries

25th July 2011 Monday

I ate my first cherry of the year today. It is the occasion of my sister’s forty first wedding anniversary. She and her husband arrive with a gorgeous gift for us - a deep punnet of purple red cherries - fat and glistening balls of sweetness. They are local - grown and picked on a farm in Somerset. She says they are meant for cooking as some of them are split down one side from the stalk. But I know they will all disappear long before they’ll ever see the inside of a saucepan. I have a weakness for cherries - they seem to have the ‘just-one-more’ gene injected in their flesh.

I’m going to find that farm. My husband says he’ll take me. He is still mourning the loss of all the cherries on our tree at the allotment - the small yellowy red variety. Stripped by the birds when we were in Wales.

All day I’ve been bathed in the shadow of yesterday when we were playing roles( I was always the mother) in a family constellation with dear friends - wading through all that ancient rage and fear and grief and loneliness - ours and our ancestors.

Cutting open the wounds then cauterising them with love. Leaving a taste of healing in my mouth - sweeter than cherries.