I had two thoughts and they flew into the air, with my voice giving them life somehow, although I did not intend to speak. And then two more thoughts tumbled out, a loud roar upon my lips, no matter how tightly I clenched my jaw. I felt an uprising within me, a rumbling and a rebellion of sorts and I saw the impending signs of the loss of control.
My imagination was about to run away from me, and it bade fanciful thoughts and stories to flow without constraint, without filters and without stopping to heed any monitoring. I smiled because I was alone, just I and the weeds of my fields and garden. No one but I and my seed tufted friends could hear the unbridled stream of consciousness that painted my world today.
Such was the moment I lived today, as I often do when contemplating the stories that play in my mind. My dear weed friend, a Marestail weed obliged me on this day by broadcasting fruitful thoughts of its own, and hanging them in the air. My weed friend can see the the value in a fertile imagination, just as I can see the value in a fertile stream of seeds carried aloft on a green scented breeze that brings the promise of new sprouts and blossoms, once the next rain comes.
I shall look forward to the next storm in the days and when it comes I shall look for the new life that comes forth from it. I may also just have a new story or two to tell.
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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