The party had been successfully underway for a couple of hours but now that dusk was settling in, the mood was changing. Young ladies starting drifting towards young men and the groups that had already formed drew closer together. They would link arms to watch the sunset in companionable silence and soon after start a fire so the ruminating and sharing of philosophies could start.
The tumbleweeds watched as the people gathered around the fire pit. All who were present felt proud to be a part of this evening ceremony which rang of primeval times, of times that go back to the beginning. Memories of ancient times are stored by weeds in their stems and roots and seeds.
The host of the party lit a match and passed the heat from its tip to a dried branch in the fire ring. The tumbleweed stood in the center of all, massive, thorny and sculptural. The fire started slow, as it smoke and curled tendrils of dried stems, withered branches and created ash pillows to float in the air. With a sudden gust, the fire came alive and crackling flames shot up, engulfing the tumbleweed and transforming it into a torch.
The partiers gasped and stepped back. Some fell back into each others’ arms, leaning heads on shoulders and embracing the warmth from the fire and from each other. The glow of warm beginnings reflected on the faces of those who watched.
“Come on baby light my fire, try to set the night on fire.”
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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