A Bowl of Cherries


Uncle Bill must have had big plans for those cherries. When he heard that I’d been climbing the cherry tree in the back yard eating up the cherries he was most unhappy with me. You can’t give back a juicy, sweet cherry once you’ve eaten it. But, really, those particular cherries – illegally seized right from the tree – were the best dang cherries I ever ate.

Please use the open space to share your first 50 words on the topic “a bowl of cherries” or on some topic suggested by the image.


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

4 thoughts on “A Bowl of Cherries”

  1. Bite the cherry that disappears
    before my eyes,
    too quickly to taste the hidden seed
    Now you see it, now you don’t

    Bite the cherry that disappears
    before its promised juices
    reach my tongue
    Now you taste it, now you don’t.

    A game of cat and mouse that no one wins.

      1. thank you grannysu, its a longer poem but I cut it to 50 words, wasnt sure if it worked byt very much appreciate your feedback

  2. Four trees lined along the backyard fence
    Christmas red and green,
    and swarming in the branches
    all of us, the cherry pickers,
    scratched legs and freckled faces,
    a gaggle of magpies chattering
    as we picked and picked and picked
    through long June mornings,
    filling dark enamel canner pots
    with tart ruby fruit.
    When the trees were bare
    we streamed inside for peanut-butter-and-jelly
    on soft white bread.
    Then the afternoons under the spreading water maple,
    pitting one cherry at a time,
    quarreling, hands pink and sticky with juice,
    tired but there was no quitting
    until the black pot was empty
    and the washpans were full.
    The bowl of warm cherries
    covered with sweet cobbler topping,
    swimming in cold milk:
    labor paid in full.

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