Pomegranates

I like thinking about Pomegranates. It’s a symbol of my childhood. A very happy one. There was a majestic Pomegranate tree outside of my house where I grew up. We (kids in the neighborhood) would climb it and shake the branches so we can get some fruits. Once we got the fruits, we would throw them onto the cement sidewalk so they would break open. We spitted out the seeds as we roller skated down the street.

I laugh at the rage of pomegranates now. There is pomegranate everything at supermarkets. I wouldn’t dare buying them now, although I can’t deny I have been tempted. I yearn to go back to those happy days. I feel as though just one bite of this wonderful fruit is going to let me sit in the shade of the pomegranate tree under the blazing hot summer sky 25 (and more!) years ago once again. I can hear the cicadas which intensifies the humidity. I can almost taste the tartness that explode on my tongue…

Unfortunately, I am pretty sure that the ones in the Canadian grocery stores are going to ruin my happy memory.