Weeds

Even the weeds have their seasons.

 

As spring sputters to a start, those little purple heads pop up tentatively, to see if April is really April.

 

As May crams full with birthday, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, the green leaves cram my garden, invidiously. I tear through them with some resentment that nothing I can do will exorcise them.

 

By Fourth of July, the weeds evolve until clawing out of the ground, maliciously, their green a thick thatch that cannot be easily disposed of.

 

The weeds fade and find their phases like daffodils, geraniums and dahlias. Even the ugliest part of creation still has its distinct character.