Seeing the giant olive tree at the Pont du Gard earlier this week reminded me of the thousands of olive trees that surround Prosilia (and the hot summer weather that I'm missing right now). It also reminded me of something I wrote a couple of years ago, so I thought I would share.The job of an olive is to be green while still on the tree.
The job of an olive is to hang on its branch through the long, hot summer, slowly and quietly growing without much water at all.
The job of an olive is to be picked from the ground when the days shorten and the Boreas blows.
The job of an olive is to be pressed into liquid gold, more precious than the finest of metals.
The job of an olive is to light up rooms, its oil filling a kandili before an icon, feeding an everlasting light for souls to find their way home.
The job of an olive is to be bitter when fresh to remind us that life too can sometimes be bitter, especially when plucked from the tree too soon.
The job of an olive is to flow its thick juices, golden, green, or muddy coloured, just like the seasons of life.
The job of an olive is to be tasted, its flavour fruity, tart, or rich.
The job of an olive is to not let us forget that life, though rough and dry at times, can be long and bear golden fruit.
The job of an olive is to remind me where I came from every time I pour its golden nectar over a salad.
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