Source: Derbeth's Flickr photostream

I don’t know why, but whenever I see wild fruit, like decorative strawberries, I have to eat them. I know, I know, eating strange things will be the death of me. But we’ve got these cherry trees growing around the entrance of our complex, and they keep dropping their luscious cherries all over the place.

Except “luscious” is a misnomer—these cherries are “tart” at best. Ah, who am I kidding, they’re nasty. I like tart, even sour things (disclaimer: I used to suck on lemons because I think they’re tasty), so when I say these cherries are nasty, believe me, they are. A few weeks ago I gathered about 6, bit into one gleefully, gagged, took another bite, gagged some more, took one last bite (the other side! try eating the other side!) frowned, and gave up. Six times.

I threatened myself from picking any more after that. But I can’t help it, my eyes gravitate to the fallen fruit. I know they won’t taste good, but I keep hoping in the deepest of hopes that this one will be the sweet one, the one that makes all the bitter pits worth it.

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