The feathery weed did not understand. Her memory was fuzzy, so she couldn’t be quite sure, but it seemed that just a day or so ago she was green and strong, happy and free to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. There had even been the promise of rain in the air, just enough to make her look forward to autumn.
But then the men came. They arrived early one grey morning. They were dressed in coveralls and they brought rain with them that came from hoses and they only gave the rain to her and her weed neighbors. Eagerly she gulped in the rain that the men brought, but it was bittersweet and smelled odd. It cloyed her senses and made her feel heavy and thick. She dulled after her first gulp.
And now she is drooping and bedraggled. The change was quick and surprising. The men will be pleased that they have done their job. My weed friend however is not happy. She is suddenly and irrevocably bedraggled and she will soon be only a ghost of her summer self.
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.