Rosemary — a witty herb

I found the morning lazily stretching out through the barren branches. I saw pieces of the night dissolving, excited about the glow of the dawn, oblivious of the wind, until suddenly I felt the taste of familiar aroma. Rosemary fragrance interrupted my sunrise dozing and pulled me way back into the past.

Far away in the Balkans: a green car, locally made, a wedding in a small village, near a big town, and the well known folk tune in the distance. In order to be a part of this celebration one had to be properly decked out. The cars would have a mandatory decoration made from a floral arrangement and a brand new towel, and all wedding guests would wear a rosemary branch pinned on their lapels. This kind of decoration was a joyful, normal custom for everyone else but me. I couldn’t take my mind off the pin, the thought that it could poke or scratch me somehow. I remember avoiding certain movements, my body stiff trying to minimize a chance to be hurt. And then, many greeting embraces would follow, bringing my fear of the pin to its climax. After all of these common protocols the smell from a little branch on my blouse gave me a speck of optimism, a drop of freshness, and a hope that I won’t get crushed by this bizarre tradition of sounds and movements. In the following days this dry branch would lay on the shelf in my parents’ room, reminding me that, paradoxically, it saved me from many unpleasantries of traditional customs and a tiny needle.

Today I am watching a proud family of spiky branches grow in spite of strong winds and color my garden in purple tones. And exactly adding just the right amount of its spice to vividly describe the morning from the beginning of this story.