Cherries, walnut leaves, John Coltrane and clafoutis
ABUNDANCE: Monday 17 June
Nobody knows what the fuck to wear. On the walk with the hound, I see sun hats, trench coats, gillets, t shirts, woolly hats, shorts, scarves, sandals. The only thing we all know for certain, is that at some point today we will be too hot for our clothes or cold to the bone, and very likely both.
I’m waiting. My body needs June and September; when you have skin the colour of supermarket shortcrust, you can live without July and August, but not its shoulders. A combination of April and October have taken June’s place and my body and soul feels its absence.
On the way home, I notice that the elders have pushed their flowers further from the leaves as if they’ve had enough of them; their scent is heavier than May’s, like warm elderflower cordial made with somebody else’s pee. It’s too early for green walnuts - mid July is usual - and chances are they will be later this year, but in checking on the tree by the river, their spicy, sherbetty leaves brighten my fingers with very possibly my favourite leaf scent of all.
I feel like I went for cake and came home with a pasty, and sometimes that has to do.
Luckily, the greengrocer came to the rescue. Somewhere in Kent, the earliest cherries in the sunniest locations are being harvested, and despite a bag of greedy handfuls tipping the scales at £12 odd, I couldn’t care less: they brought deep purple sunshine.
I make clafoutis and eat too many fresh from the colander as the rain falls.
More words, plus a recipe for Cherry and coriander seed clafoutis below