I lean over each barbed thistle, grab hold, pull straight up.
I keep thinking that this time, the weeds won’t grow back.
Surely, If I uproot them over and over from the same spot,
they’ll stop trying.

But they never do. Their tenacity is inspiring.
They never “learn their lesson.” They never “mind their place.”
My borders and rules mean nothing to a life bent on living.

My husband groans about the tedium in the garden.
But what about making a life isn’t tedious?
And what of our tedium isn’t miraculous?

Flowers bloom, food grows from green stalks.
We cook, wash the dishes, make the beds, brush our teeth.
we stay fed and (mostly) healthy, free to love and be loved.
And over each noxious weed, an angel whispers, “Grow!”