On a hot summer afternoon, Émile, in his sixties, calmly picks blackberries in the shade of the woods. He trudges along the paths, climbs, sweats in the summer heat, and finally finds his little spot. He picks the purple, sweet, tart blackberries and absentmindedly tastes one. His face turns red and purple, he rejoices, revels in the moment, and becomes the young boy he once was. Émile, ten years old, smiles with mischievous delight. It is only at the end of the day that Émile returns, stunned but sated, his child's face smeared with purple, traces of fruit, and, as in his memories, the blackberries all devoured.