Sunday, 7 June 2009

the power of strawberries

Red when ripe, they are tiny Martian superbombs of taste... No, I am not talking about those artificial looking, unripened, half-green half-rosy, plastic-package strawberries you can buy in supermarkets (those are fruits of human impatience, hard fruits plucked well before time, because a contract with the huge commercial chain obliges producers to deliver in time - no matter what).

I am talking about REAL strawberries, the ones that may not have the size as described in an officially approved list (a directive or catalogue), but do have a thousand times more TASTE and colour. They bring with themselves the memories of earth, of a dark or dust-gray dappled grounds, dry or wet soils - so close to them once, until your eyes picked them and your hands plucked them... They bring you maybe memories of a childhood where you could run wild and devour childhandfuls of fruits from your grandparents' or -secretly- your neighbours' field. They bring a touch of temptation, too, just see your own wine-red lips and white teeth as you gently put them one by one in your mouth - the gesture both feels and looks so sensual, it hides an invitation to action and a sense of daring exposition.

Strawberries, oh, their ripening has always been a feast in my life. When they pushed up their little bright heads, it was time to stop learning for school, it was time to rush out to the garden. Their brilliant red fruits in a big bowl - this was my mother's simplest but best gift I claim every year even if I am thousand miles away. Except for this year...

This year was special. Specially bad - many challenges at work, in family, at my own time-management. Failures in things everybody else so easily absolves... Or just bad luck? Like in many other people's lives. To the point that I am not able to pay my strawberry pilgrimage to my parents' place.

And then came friends. They grabbed me out from my stupor and figuratively tossed me in a car to venture out to Germany to a "pluck yourself" farm. And there I was. Finally some real ground below my feet (still unused to the ever changing rhythm of earth and moving walkways)! Finally some real colour, real movement as I bend myself to reach ruby-like treasures. The smell of sand and earth, the smell of dust and bright-red fruity, hearty perfume puts me back to the trail again.

Here I am, still not giving up - still beating this path I created for myself after a Mondfinsternis, a full moon eclipse and a major car crash threw me out from an illusionary cradle and seemingly safe haven. I am out in the savannas, feeling the lion cub in me and learning to roar. Roaming on vast strawberry fields and turnig swiftly in our orange-white-red coloured kitchen while cooking strawberry jam...

I am back to life again, back to fight depression, back to strive to make this life enjoyable - to relearn and discover the little joys of weekdays - thanks to my friends and thanks to beautiful brilliant perfumed dark-red strawberries.

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