Mmmm, I love my cherries. Left, right, top, bottom, in between.
I love them so much that while not the only one, they are my favourite fruit. I love them so much that Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson is my favourite book, but not just because of the title. I love them so much that I want to have them all the time, not just on top.
The last time I was strolling around my birthtown, Ljubljana, photo cherries were coming left and right so fast that I was struggling to catch them all. I’ve done at least three photo-heavy posts already from this walk and at least three are still in the works.
During the walk through the centre of the city where I lived all my life up to three years ago I didn’t meet a single familiar face for the longest time, even though the streets were packed. In Slovenia, with her zero degrees of separation.
When I finally did, it was a girl from my high school class. I told her how glad I was to meet her because by the look of it I could easily be in Antwerp. Or Brugge. Helsinki. Switzerland. New York. Somewhere with plenty of people whom I don’t know.
When we continued our stroll, I was pretty sure that I had just talked to her in English. I couldn’t tell for sure.
And yet some of the cherries could only have grown where I did. They put me in the place and back to the time when everything was completely different. Let’s see which one was the ultimate cherry.