The sunlight on the weeds is surprising. They are weeds, bane of my new domestic life. I spend weekends bent over the lawn, spraying them with gusto, one by one. I savor their imminent demise, the browning of their leaves and the shriveling of their blooms. The fact that they are not inherently distasteful plants, in fact are quite nutritious, gives me some pause. They are not noxious, are not poisonous, do not damage the skin. They simply have a reputation. It is this reputation that dooms them. So seeing them in this light, both literally and figuratively, is disconcerting. They are beautiful. I want to run through them, freeing their potential. Watching the seeds fly, domestication be damned.


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