Rosemary Leaves A Lasting Memory

Many years ago, we vacationed in Tuscany with friends. We rented a farm cottage surrounded by olive trees. I brought back all the usual memories -- walled towns perched on small hills, cypresses perfectly grouped along the skyline -- but my strongest memory is of a bush.

Our companions had a deep gnawing hunger for real estate, and we joined them as they looked for bargains. No complaints, since one of these expeditions led me to my bush. In fact, we were there to look at yet another denatured and overpriced farm cottage. My husband and I were not in the market for the house, but the bush -- I would have cashed in my RRSPs to own it. It stood to one side of the front door, and had been lovingly trimmed over the years, or perhaps centuries, into a perfect bush shape, six feet at least in height. The bush was more than fragrant, it was aromatic. We felt its aroma from 20 feet away.

Up close, I saw myriad short, narrow, shiny leaves, dark green above, a lighter green below. Then I realized what it was, though previously I had only seen leaves like these in small glass jars. It was a rosemary bush, and I wanted it. Full Story

Related: religion, wicca, pagan, spells