Le Temps Des Cerises

 Two nights ago Kate had a visitor named Patrick who was super nice and who I wished I could adopt as a grandfather, especially since his grandchildren are all super far away.   He brought out his harmonica after dinner and Kate and Patrick and I sat around with each other's music for the evening.  He played a song called Le Temps Des Cerises (The Time Of The Cherries) and it was beautiful, about lost love.  It was written in the 1860's in Paris.  Here is a version sung in the 1970's:

my favorite bits, translated by me, 
since there isntt a good translation on the internet:

"When we sing in the time of the cherries,
beauties' heads are full of folly and lovers' hearts full of sun. 

But it is short, the time of the cherries,
when we go dreaming, picking earrings of cherries;
cherries of love robed in red, dropping under the leaves like drops of blood. 

When you are in the time of the cherries,
if you have fear of heartache, avoid the beauties. 
Me, I'm not afraid of the cruel pains. 
I would not live without the suffering. 

I will always love the time of the cherries. 
It is the time that I guard in my heart, an open wound. 
I will always love the time of the cherries
and the memory that I keep in my heart."


It just so happens that right now is, in fact, the time of the cherries.  And long ago Bruno's father planted a cherry tree in the field across the river from the weaving studio.  I was weighing some yarn on an old baby scale (upon which Bruno and all of Bruno's children were weighed as babies), when Emerick (the guy living in the yurt) stopped by and lured me away from my duties with promises of cherry-picking.  And with baskets in one hand and a long hooky-thing in the other, I walked across the field into one of my lifelong dreams. 

A tree full of the most delicious fruit in the world.  I have never eaten a cherry picked fresh from the tree, and this morning I climbed high high high up into the forgiving branches of this not-very-big tree and ate all my stomach could carry.  Emerick and I worked our way around and up in companionable silence.  Once he did say that cherries almost make him believe in God.  I felt that, too; a gratitude for the perfection that just waited for us.  The birds singing, the sky softly blue, I felt like I was on top of the world.  Each breath and every movement was calm and smooth and intent, taking everything in, moving carefully to reach higher (without falling out of the tree).  And there were cherries everywhere.  Each bite was full of dreams fulfilled.

I'm going back tomorrow for breakfast.