A week later the leaves were dry. The luxurious bunch had shrivelled.
Leaving the flower and seed ends for digging into the garden (where perhaps one or two will sprout to grow a ground cover), I stripped the leaves from the strands.
Crisp and crunchy. Shattering between my fingers. Crumbling. A small bowl full. A glass jar partially filled.
And all through the process, I could smell the fresh caught aromatics. Ready for Italian inspired meals in the future.