Sunday
Stella stirred the oregano she’d dried from the riot of herbs in her garden into the tomatoes simmering in her battered aluminum pot. She reached for her bottle of olive oil and poured a generous spoonful into the tomatoes. As the oil hit the warmth of the sauce, the smell wafted up to her, green and spicy, like raw artichokes. She inhaled, savoring the scent. Lifting the bottle, she realized she’d inadvertently slipped beyond the halfway point. Should she ration the small amount of oil she’d been able to press from her trees?
Stella shrugged and poured in another circle of the oil, admiring its glossy spiral pattern on the tomato sauce. She’d never been good at waiting.
After all, when she finished her oil, she could easily go back to buying oil from the town cooperative. Her la
