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Sour cherries hang from the branches
like little red buttons delicately sewn onto the treeās green dress by the hand of nature.
They glisten under the sunlight, not shouting for attention, not begging to be noticed
and yet, your eyes canāt help but be drawn to them, just like sweet memories that quietly rise from the corners of the past.
Each sour cherry seems to hold a story, a tale of a busy spring, a gentle breeze, a timely rainā¦
and a long wait to reach that one perfect moment, when it becomes full, ripe, and brimming with life.
When they dangle from the tree, something inside you whispers:
āLife is right here, in this moment, in this simple beauty full of color and taste.ā
And how can one stand beneath a sour cherry tree and not think of their inner child?
The child who longed to stretch out a hand, pluck a cherry, and without hesitation, place it in their mouth
tart and sweet, just like life itself.
And perhaps,
life is exactly this: hanging somewhere between sour and sweet, just waiting to be pickedā¦ 15 replies
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