My dime store lover gave me paper roses once, back in third grade. A quarter was all he had and he spent it all on me. He had freckles and red hair, a skinned knee and sweaty fingers, sticky from nerves. He stood so sweetly near me as he paid for the flowers with his last coin and then he smiled shyly at me when he turned and offered up the cheerful bouquet.
I reached out and gently took the flowers. I smiled and hugged the gift to my chest, drawing my sweater closed around the flowers, wanting to keep them safe. We walked home together that afternoon, quiet and shy with the new knowledge that we’d done something special.
This tumbleweed flower brought me back to that tender moment of years past, complete with the stale smell of the dime store and the sticky sweet, cheap perfume that the roses had been sprayed with. The sweet memory of the stirrings of love was present today at dawn in a beautiful field of green tumbleweeds with small paper thin flowers.
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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