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winter

When The Cherries Run Out

Every year for the past four years, I’ve bought the summer cherries, gleaming and glistening in their blue cardboard boxes, snug and ripe to the point of bursting. They are sour. My teeth scrape the flesh from the pit, turn the cherry in my mouth, scrape again, my face puckers. It is warm and the morning at the farmers market is bright, and every year the vendors ask if I want the sweet ones instead and I say, “No.”

Life Lessons
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