Some Round Red Things
On my first lucid day back in New York, I went down to the Union Square Farmers Market. I had abandoned hope of finding cherries. All indications were that the season was over. But there they were: the elusive sour cherry that had eluded me the entire time I was in Italy. Bright red almost translucent, succulent beyond compare, tart tart tart: the sour cherry. I bought as much as I could sanely carry on my other errands: eight quarts. The farmer was so surprised at my enthusiasm that he threw in two cups of raspberries. I had already bought fish and other produce. I stumbled 15 blocks all semblance of dignity lost, like a cherry-crazed bag lady. But it was worth it. The cherries forgave me. They waited for me to come home to them.
There will be pie.