Olive oil-cured olives. There was no curing, as
there was no pain. Yet he remembered how olive oil was used to ease earache in
the old country. A land of pine trees, white stone houses and crime of honor.
With a cracked wooden spoon he mixed sesame seeds and dry thyme into the olive
oil. Thyme is good for the thyroid. Thyme is good to wake up one’s mouth after a
night of restless sleep. Thyme is what
makes people think about lands of sun and white rocks. “Don’t let anyone steal your thyme” the Irish sang.
He mixed the drudged seeds and thyme slowly. Olive oil and olives. The essence and the
concept. Together in a jar, before sunrise.
Before the city morgue gets its first victim from the night. Before the old dogs take their time to pee
their first pee on the lamp posts.
Before his neighbor rolls his first cigarette and coughs as if morning
cough should precede black coffee. Today the city was quiet yet he thought
about all those who were still under warm covers, through their morning-breath hanging
to each other as if sunrise would change all relationships. That made him smile. Sunrise covers shades by
the obvious, while relations thrive for the unexpected.
He lived on a river but could smell the ocean. All rivers find their oceans, but sometimes
oceans return to rivers as time returns to its own curving when one pushes time
too far. Or too fast. And rivers run to their destiny, just to discover that destiny is that
vast ocean where all mix, where all become what they never wanted to be. Destiny is an empty vastness full of wasted
time.
Breakfast was almost ready, yet sunrise was an hour
away. Or an hour late. He opened the fridge door halfway as the dog was
sleeping in front of it. The yogurt jar
was inviting, but he looked for cheese. Olives are best with drained yogurt,
but he wanted thyme on sheep’s milk cheese.
Thyme and olive oil, with a touch of tomato tapenade.
As he prepared his plate and toasted the Lavash bread,
his dog looked at him. He had already
peed on every lamp post in the city and felt ready for the day. He knew he will
have a few pieces of the warm bread thrown right under his nose. Then he will
have his own breakfast, get a rub on his ears, belch and let a sigh of
content. He knew by sunrise he would
have a full belly.
Olive oil-cured olives. Destiny-cured sunrises.
Rivers which do not find their oceans. Time bent from its own speed, returns as
a new time, as less time to stay under covers or sleep on new pillows.
He bit into the warm bread and dipped the remaining
piece into the blend he had mixed. Lavash bread, olive oil, thyme and sesame seeds. Then he
got up, opened the window, and with the cool smell of the river, he invited the
acrid tobacco odor into his living room.
His neighbor was awake and had rolled his first
cigarette of the day.
A blue heron sounded its wooden flute screech and
landed at the end of the dock. Sunrise was imminent.
April 3, 2012
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