Basil is dying. He sits on the kitchen windowsil, a shaddow of his former self. His leaves are bleached by the sun, and some have even begun to shrivel. Through the long weeks I have remembered him, tended his every need. Given him water to drink and removed any withered leaves. Many times I thought the end had come - during my absences in Cambridge he was much neglected, but I was able to visit enough to keep him going. I was his sustainer, without me he would be nothing.
But now, though he is alive still, there is no room for him to travel with us to far off lands, and I fear he will not survive my absence from his life. Though we have loved him, and used his leaves in many dishes (lasagne sauce is being made with him as we speak) I know this must be the end coming for him.
Some might dare to suggest a replacement could be obtained for him, but it would not be the same. Basil, my basil will be gone. At least his memeory will live on in my heart, and on my blog. Basil we loved you dearly.