Weeds are amazing. I know they have a bad rap for appearing in unwanted places, but have you ever considered their character?
A weed is hearty, a rebel. It roots itself wherever it can, often going to great lengths to survive. Sure they grow in grass but they are different. They hold on. They own the land, claim their own. They are strong.
Weeds are mighty. I find them in treacherous spaces, pushing through the cement, reaching out down the path – rooted along the way. They don’t just fight. They survive. They come back from the dead.
My favorite flower, in fact, is a weed. Dandelions. A wish on a stick. I use them to wish and pray. A co-habitable abomination, I say.
On occasions I am blessed to see a single blade of grass or forming leaf appear through the sidewalk or far into the road. It made it! I can too! I want to be like a weed. Hearty, filling, true.
I also like pulling weeds. It is strenuous yet relaxing to be in the dirt, one with the earth making peace. I see my results. I feel the struggle. I absorb the release. I feel it let go. We are free. The soil is turned. My preferred get more nutrients. I can sleep.
I say ’til death do us part and I love weeds all the way.
I feel so happy here on the floor.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2013
If a weed is anything it is a holder of moisture