The bottles stood in rows, on the lowest shelf of the sideboard, to keep them out of the light during the hot southern summers. Sometimes in the afternoon, I would open the window and the sun's low rays would hit them, creating pinkish-purple spots on the stone floor.

It’s not summer without the scented whiff from a basil plant as you walk past it. It can’t be summer without a handful of its leaves to liven up a green salad, or sprinkled on top a fresh and inviting Caprese, or again crushed with garlic in a creamy bright green pesto. That’s basil: once you smell it, you’ll never forget it.  

I like both the smells of the countryside and those of the city, but the countryside smells sweet, and cities could do with a bit more countryside.