Their leader was Puff, so named because a puff of wind allowed her to be the first to fall free and then glide away from her thistle home across the meadow. Her sisters, loving the new feeling of having room to breathe, wriggled with excitement, and in so doing loosened the bonds that held them tight. Puff started a movement, a parade of seed pods parachuting off and away to find new terrain to make fertile. They liked their new look, these transformed thistle gals. They forged a new path on their virgin journey, but they stayed together, kindred spirits in unfamiliar territory.
Like dark eyelined gals fresh out of high school they acted as if they were in a punk rock band. Puff and the Parachutes slam danced and pogoed their way to stardom and adoration by the masses. They pulled their audience from every corner: the children who liked floaty things, the birds who liked to dash in and out as much as they did, the weeds and trees and grasses who tried to grasp them out of the sky, so as to feel lifted up, and lucky photographer nuts. The landscape will be ever grateful to their spirited performance because, thanks to Puff and the Parachutes, this field and ones nearby will be full of new thistles next year!
Please come back tomorrow for a new “Weed Image of the Day” and let me know which ones you like.
We and our weeds are so much more than what we first appear to be.
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