The Basil

I thanked you daily, that was what I was taught to do, to thank others for a kindness, a gesture a thought of appreciation.

And, so I thanked you daily, many times a day, for insignificant things, I parroted your graciousness, with a dramatic flurry of my hands — with words and deeds. Along the way learning how truly a powerful phrase it is — indeed.

I thanked you with the bighearted thoughtlessness of a child, a child filling in my heart with the thirst for knowledge, only a child can display, without being offensive.

You watered me daily, feeding my thirst all the while, the pot was nourished too.

You said to me, “Love, is as the Basil plant, aromatic, nourishing, giving. But without daily watering it withers away, don’t water the pot, water life — are you listening?”

I was listening and now I listen to your memories immortalized in me.

I thanked you for those thoughts, I six maybe seven but I was old, as old as you, because I understood the pathos, the importance of transfer of knowledge — as I watched how you interplayed with the fabric of life around you.

Today, your special day, I wish I could thank you as a woman, the woman you helped shape, your words and deeds settled into the leaved layers of my heart, as aromatic as the potted Basil plant you spoke of.

My, thank you, today carries more weight, they are given wholeheartedly with lots of thought put into the utterance, if I say it, I mean it, if not well I’ve put even more thought into withholding it.

My thank you, is between watering’s, I’ve learned to trim the Basil, releasing its scent on holy days, when being thankful is not parroting, but true, affirming to myself that through the deepest of despair, this life is still worthy. It kept sacrificing, after you, and will, long after me. And I thoughtless still, as I expect nothing in return. There’s much to be thankful for but what more than affirmation?

I want to thank you today and everyday from here to eternity, as I stare toward the horizon from the cliffs of The Xai, where our history began (do not worry much, I’m surefooted).

As the Etesian winds, swirl around me, your voice rises and caresses the hands I raise in supplication — thankful, ever more so than mere words can express.

I water life and it blooms around me, your thoughts come to me on the gentleness of the summers breeze, a nod in kind — as though you’re thanking me — for what, for what?. I do not know —

“You’re welcome, Father — are you listening?”

“I broke the pot, the Basil grows free in the wild”.

Summarize

The Basil