Delicate fruits of happiness

BY ANDRÉ RODRIGUES DA SILVA . PORTUGAL . EUROPEFigs

It’s Summer and the old Citröen drives through a narrow unpaved road leaving behind a cloud of dust. With the windows rolled down, the heat of the day is quietened by the mildly warm wind that fills the car. The air is permeated with the scent of thyme, oregano and figs. I don’t know exactly were we’re going. We’ll probably visit some family members and spend the rest of the afternoon gathered around a table talking about everything and nothing. But wherever we’re going there will be figs on the table and if they’re fresh nobody will be able to stop me from slurping them.

This is one of the first memories that comes to my mind when the mildly sweet smell of freshly picked figs besieges me. They bring back memories of happy times spent with my parents on those long summer vacations. To me, they are the delicate fruits of happiness.

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