He knew that the old woman had given him hope. She had given him a task and a challenge, a reason to live. Was she less than honest? Maybe so.
Demetrius leaned against the trunk of the olive tree. He knew he was nearing the end of his years.
“My life has not been so bad,” he said to himself.
He held a small glass bottle which held a sample of this past year’s oil. He poured a little into the palm of his weathered old hand. He brought it to his lips and took his first taste.
It was as pure as true love. It was as rich as a life well lived. And it was as deep and complex as the wisdom of the ages. He smiled and leaned his head back against the tree he loved. Ah.
“Wake up. Wake up my love.”
Demetrius would know her voice anywhere, anytime across any ages.
“Daria, my Daria. I’ve been waiting for so long.”
“Why Demetrius, I’ve only been gone for a moment. We’ll have forever together.”
He held up the palm of hand and said, “Try some of my oil.” He noticed that his hand was no longer wrinkled and lined with age. It was the hand of a young man.
Daria kissed the hand that held the oil. Looking into his eyes she said,
“It’s perfect. It tastes of love.”
10.