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Be a Weed -- Writer's Poke #311

It hadn’t rained in days, and the grass was dying. Some of our neighbors started to water their lawns, but the effort was futile.

Meanwhile, the weeds survived.

Weeds always survive. We stopped using the lawn service a couple of years ago, and the first year off the chemicals, the grass managed to look pretty good. The second year, however, the weeds took over.

This year it got so bad that I almost gave in. Instead of going back to the lawn service, though, I decided to spray the weeds myself. I sprayed them in May, and it looked like they died. By the end of July, they were back in full force. And they brought some of their friends.

Weeds always bring reinforcements.

And at that point, I decided that I don’t mind weeds. I would live with them in peace. Who decided that a lawn should be 100% uniform grass anyway?

For my daughter, weeds are treasures. She picks them and finds beauty in them. Each weed is an offering to mommy. Each weed, in her eyes, is a way to make mommy’s face light up.

In what ways would your life improve if you were more like a weed?

“Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.” -- A.A. Milne


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