I dream of olives, green and black, fresh or preserved in jars, even tins.
I crave their taste or should I say tastes for there are so many variations.
And then their oils.
From spicy to almost sweet, lemony.
As deep a sensation on the nose as wine.
Maybe even more satisfying than wine but it’s not a competition.
Each has its own mysteries for the palate to explore.
olive oil
with a hunk of fresh bread
the sun and the earth
Early morning outside at a harbour café in Saint Tropez
An elderly man sits down and adjusts his straw hat
Without a word the waiter brings him:
a newspaper
a glass of champagne
a plate of olives
This would be good I think.. yes..
I dream of olives
the green and the black
the fine soft down
on the back of your neck
our fingers touching
About the Creator
Paul Conneally
Paul Conneally is a Cultural Forager, poet and artist.
He writes on culture in its widest sense from art to politics, music and science and all points between.
His Twitter handle is @littleonion and on Instagram he is @little___onion
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