Weeds

I have questions about weeds, such as: Are they always working their way through soil, looking for an opening? And: Why are they so magnificent? Star-shaped, tentacled as if arising from the sea ready to execute their plan, stamping a perfect weed template over and over, each one different and infinitely the same. I pried them two weeks ago from between the flagstones with the long-handled tool ending in a serpent’s tongue and here they are again, making me look at my own fingers differently, as if at any moment they’ll curl towards the sun. As if there’s something unstoppable and it’s not death.