Shyly the Shepherd’s Purse weed grew up from a rosette of leaves wisely growing flat to the ground. Collecting its strength from its leaves and the bountiful sun, the weed had hopes that aimed high, for it wished to grow as tall as the Clock Tower that looked over the garden, and saw all.
The Clock Tower saw the people come and go, and although possessing a fine clear toned bell, had very little to say about what it observed. Ornate, yet possessing a serious attitude, it was secure in its position and felt the view was his and his alone. He was aware of his own importance as a landmark and the holder of the highest point in the entire garden so the Clock Tower did not engage with any of the other garden inhabitants, who were all beneath him. There was a grand tree next to the Clock Tower, but it was only useful for shade on hot days, and so no friendly words passed between them.
The Shepherd’s Purse longed to have the stature and the viewpoint of the tower, yet he was only able to stand by and watch as the footsteps tread nearby, and shoes left their imprint as company for him in the path. The lowly weed was only able to wonder about the destination of the visitors, and count the moments until someone passed by again. With every passing day however, the weed grew taller and stronger, and its skills of observation sharpened.
One day a great storm struck the garden. It was a day of strong winds and rain, and the weed weathered the storm in the only way it knew. It danced. It bent and swayed, touched the ground, then its neighboring plants, and then straightened up for a moment to say hello to the clouds. On that day, the branches of the trees closest to the Clock Tower whipped furiously. They were not as supple as the weed, and could not dance as flexibly. One grand old branch whipped close to the clock tower at the behest of a terrible gust and bent much much further then it should, until it – SNAPPED and struck the clock tower straight on the face of the clock. The weed was shocked at the violence, and although still tossed about by the storm, the weed kept his eye on the Clock Tower, whose self important confident expression had been replaced by one of dismay due to a drooping minute hand and a dangling number 5.
After the storm, days went by and the gardens were tended, but as the Shepherd’s Purse observed, no one repaired the Clock Tower. Perhaps because it stood so much higher, no one bothered to look up. Every day without fail, the weed kept his eye on the clock tower, and saw small changes occurring. Each day the number 5 dropped lower, hanging ever more tenuously from its tethers. And every day the clock tower looked around the garden a bit more, looking for help, or understanding, or perhaps an ally.
The Shepherd’s Purse could do very little in the scheme of grand architecture and repairs, but it could be good company. And so, from the first day the Clock Tower and the Shepherd’s Purse connected with a strong look, the little weed never looked away. He always gazed upward, willing the Clock Tower to be strong. And so the Clock Tower garnered strength from his little flexible friend with the heart shaped fruits, and, fortified by companionship, one day he let loose the number 5 that had dangled for days, and as luck would have it, the iron number fell at the feet of a gardener who picked it up and looked up to finally see the Clock Tower had a need for attention.
The repairs were made and precision and importance had once again been restored to the garden. From that day forward the Clock Tower and the Shepherd’s Purse were fast friends and whenever possible, the Clock Tower would use its bell to update the little weed of exciting goings on that only someone of his stature could see. He no longer needed to keep the view to himself.
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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