When I was a child, there was a cherry tree growing in our yard. Old, crooked, with bitter bark and branches that scratched my skin. I could sit right under it for hours and listen to the wind tugging at the leaves and ripping the ripest berries right into my palm.

When I grew up, I didn’t have a single photo with that tree. Only my hands remember sticky fingers and shirts with stains that my mother then soaked in the kitchen. Maybe that’s why I still love cherries the most.

Now I buy cherries in plastic boxes — clean, washed, without worms and cobwebs. But still, every time I bite into the first berry, I hear my barefoot steps in the yard.

I often make a quick cherry compote when I miss summer. Just a handful of berries, some sugar and water - bring to a boil and turn off immediately. The smell of this compote is better than any perfume. It lives in the apartment for several hours, reminding you of bare feet and scratches on your elbows.

I noticed that the simplest is usually the most delicious. Without complicated recipes, without ideal proportions. The main thing is to catch the moment when the cherries are still sweet, not sour.

Sometimes I add a couple of mint leaves or a couple of drops of lemon - and I think how many things you can come up with with just one bowl of berries.

When people ask me what I want in the summer - I always want only one thing. Find the same tree, sit under it and forget how old I am and what things await me tomorrow. And just become a little girl again, who gets a sweet berry straight from someone else's sky.