Repetitively and untiringly, a lady kneeling on the ground hand-picks cherries with her small hands. The round ruby coloured cherries are reminiscent of poppies’ petals.

In the shadow of an ancestral tree, sheltered by the leaves, the woman achieves her task and packs up the cherries. She goes as fast as the size of her palms allows it. Small and frail, her arms get tired easily by the position she must hold.

One day after the other, the humming coming from her co-workers and the sun shining above her head are her companions for the day and as the light dims and announces the end of the day, she increases her pace.

The sun lightens up the colour of her hair, guilds her skin tone, and dries up the tear drops which fell from her green eyes. ‘Oh! What a life I have’ thinks the lady oftentimes, hand-picking the cherries. This thought alone brings sadness to her face. When this occurs, she looks up to the sky and while the leaves shudder, and the rays of light shine bright, she perceives something moving in the air, a miraculous sign which speaks to her telling her that she is not alone.

The heart filled with both sorrow and hope, she bows her head down to demonstrate her gratitude and continues to fill her hands with cherries.