I was walking to The University, taking the long way for the wonderful views of endless pastures, and fresh woods. Soon, a growling in my belly distracted me enough to remember that I hadn’t packed a lunch. I kept walking down the road, hoping to find something to eat along the way.
Eventually, I came to a place of stony ground higher than the land around it, with the road winding among large, gray rocks the size of houses. Here, amid the boulders, I found an olive tree, ancient and alone, whose aroma sweetly blessed the breeze in that rugged place. Sitting under the tree was an old man dressed like a Baptist, leaning against the gnarled trunk and watching me with an amused smile in his eyes and on his lips.
“Can you tell me where I might find something to eat?” I asked him. “I am traveling to The University, and I forgot to pack my lunch.”
The old man whispered something I missed, and when I didn’t answer, he chuckled. He looked up into the olive tree for a few moments. Then he intentionally bumped the back of his head with some force against its trunk. A shower of ripe olives came down and, before they finished falling, I gathered up a few. But with a gesture, the old man insisted that I gather up all I could find. So after several minutes, and with stuffed pockets and a nod from him, I set off down the road.
Taking one olive out of my pocket, I wondered how to eat it. It was so beautiful, oval and deep green, and smelled wonderful, like the memory of my grandparents. But I was used to olives in jars and cans. It was just too difficult to decide how to eat it, and the olive was just too beautiful to let go.
So with my growling belly I continued down the road to The University, with my pockets full of olives, to a sparkling stream from which, without a cup, I found it impossible to drink.
