If there’s one good thing about weeding, it makes the world slow down.

You can’t work on the computer, or your phone.

Unless you’re a bluetooth person.

Nothing against bluetooth people . . .

You can listen to music, but I don’t.

Sometimes I wish I were listening to music, mainly to uproot some other snippet of a pop song out of my head.

Don’t speak.

I know just what you’re sayin’.

But while weeding, I can usually think, at least a little bit.

I think about weeds.

I might even philosophize.

About weeds.

I could learn a lot from weeds;  masters of survival, of resilience.

From chickweed, I could learn to be so useful I make myself indispensable.

IMG_0675

From dollar weed and creeping charlie, I could learn to plant so many roots that no matter where I’m uprooted, I’d always stay grounded somewhere, and from there I could grow again.

IMG_0644

IMG_0645

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From bermuda grass and smartweed, to let go and sacrifice a part of myself rather than hold on and risk losing it all.

 

 

 

IMG_0648IMG_7628

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From plantain, to dig in deep and hold on tight.

IMG_0642

From prostrate spurge, to keep a low profile and adapt to grow in inhospitable places.

IMG_0640

From creeping woodsorrel, to blend into the background when need be.

IMG_0646

From horse nettle, to develop defenses that make it painful to threaten me.

IMG_0639

From hairy bittercress, to far-fling my ideas in hopes they’ll take root somewhere.

IMG_3934

And from cleavers, to attach myself to things that are going places.

IMG_0715

From all the weeds, to thrive in poor soil and drought, where the more delicate and needy plants fail.

Too much time alone in the weeds?

No doubt.