I'm pretty sure that if I were Eve, and the naughty tree happened to be a rainier cherry tree, we'd be in the same sinful predicament.
I love them.
White meat protected by dusky red skin. I eat one with both hands, wrapped, like I'm playing a harmonica.
My mother buys them for me. My husband buys them for me. My friend brings me a bag home from her farm. Too bad my birthday's not in July.
On my wedding morn I soaked in a bubble bath with a bowl of cherries. It was quite romantic.
I look forward to this time every year and I get, really, unutterable joy from cherries.
Can anything be more poignant than a bowl of cherries?