The Star That Fell Into the Basil Pot

On the kitchen windowsill in Nora’s house there was a pot of basil. It was not special, or at least that was what she thought. It was used for sauce, for tomato and mozzarella, and to perfume her mother’s hands while she cooked.

One evening Nora was bored.

“Nothing ever happens here,” she said, looking outside.

The village was quiet. A lit window, a bicycle leaning against the wall, the neighbour’s cat on the roof.

“Things happen even when they do not make noise,” her mother answered.

Nora was not convinced.

That night, while everyone was asleep, she heard a light plin. She got up and went into the kitchen. In the basil pot there was a very small light.

A star had fallen among the leaves.

It was no bigger than a seed. It trembled and smelled of sky.

Nora brought her nose closer. The basil, which usually smelled of summer, that night also smelled of Moon.

“Are you a real star?”

The little star did not answer. It made one leaf shine.

Nora wanted to wake everyone. Then she stopped. The star seemed tired. She took a teaspoon of water and moistened the soil, gently. She moved the pot away from the draught. She placed an upside-down little cup beside it, like a shelter.

The star shone a little more.

Nora sat on the floor and watched.

The pot was still the same: terracotta, earth, green leaves. And yet now it seemed like an entire garden. An ant passed between two stems as if crossing a forest. A drop of water became a lake. A large leaf gave shade to the star.

“How is it possible that all this was here and I did not see it?”

In the morning the star was gone. In its place, on one leaf, there shone a silver drop.

Nora showed it to her mother.

“Something happened.”

Her mother smelled the basil. “It smells of a good night.”

From that day Nora no longer said that nothing happened. She looked more carefully. In the pot she found paths, shadows, dew, tiny insects, new leaves.

And sometimes, when the basil smelled stronger than usual, Nora smiled.

Perhaps a star had come back to rest there.

Or perhaps wonder had always been in the pot, waiting only for someone to look closely.