Weeds, weeds. Fast growing, resilient, hardy, flexible. Uninvited, foliage fills crevices, under tarps, up through rock beds, between fence slats and concrete.
I beat back the persistence getting pricked by thorns and covered in sticky burs. Summer heat begins to burn my neck. The sun rises higher with full flame. Will cease picking and pulling soon. A little at a time. Too much and I’ll faint.
Green tea energy peeters out. There’s a crick in my back. Pestilence remains.
Still, an emptiness, quietude and solace fills new fleeting vacancy where there once was choked neglect.