A Walk in the Weeds

A Weed Walker

Out for a walk recently I strayed from the road, probably for a closer look at something I noticed off to the side. I am curious that way. I found I was surrounded by weeds. Its fall here, and most of them are dry, apparently dead. They are russet, brown, and orange in color and they are beautiful. They are covered with seeds that stick to my clothes, their branches and tendrils cling to my legs. When I pull the burrs off of my clothes, they stick to my fingers. When I thrash through the branches and tendrils, or reach down to pull them aside, their thorns stick me.

I stumbled, and fell, and reacted, “Damn it! Why do we have to have these weeds?”

I lay there for a moment, to catch my breath, and noticed my pulse gently thrumming in my ears. As the thrumming faded I noticed the weeds rustling in the evening breeze. I saw martens and bats sweeping and darting just above the weeds, dining on mosquitos. I felt soft earth and brittle stems beneath me. The stillness settled around me and all grew quiet.

Time passed.

I made my way to my feet, took a deep breath and a good stretch, felt on my face the last warm rays of the sun, and turned toward home.