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The Olive Mill

We have an orchard in the sun

with six hundred olive trees

and an olive mill. Our trees

are centuries old.

 

We have named our trees. We walk

frowning among them,

draw our fingers across singing

ridges of ancient olive bark.

 

Our skin watches for harvest time

with the moon. We shake

the olive fruit carefully from our trees

and carry it to the granite stones

 

of our mill. When we have ground

our year of olives into rich paste

and spread it on the straw mats

of our press, we watch it engender

 

a slow green-gold with the sun inside it

the hiss of pepper, a thrumming

of butter and the taste

of tart grass and cold appled fruit.

 

The Olive Farmer

Nic Sebastian

  

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Taken on March 28, 2009