Weeds

The evening cool came later than I thought it would, and so the evening weeding started later than it should have.  The point of the front garden completed, a little more of the secondary pathway reclaimed. Purslane and creeping spurge, goose grass and wood sorrel, all fell victim to my hand and fervor.

It got dark faster than I'd hoped, the small solar lantern coming alight and the mosquitoes making their unwelcome presence known.  I weeded until I could no longer see the weeds clearly, then admitted defeat. The balance of the enemy would have to fall in another battle, the war was done for the day.  

Before the sun had gone too far down, and before Himself came out to mow, I did hear a good bit of rustling in the brush behind the junipers and down the bank. I wasn't sure if I was more hopeful or wary that it might be one of our little skunks. It surely wasn't the local cat - the birds would have raised a ruckus had it been he - and it sounded overly large for a squirrel.  My curiosity was not satisfied, as the beast never did make an appearance.

There is something oddly and eminently satisfying in weeding a garden.  When undisturbed by the sounds of lawn equipment or cars on the road, it can be meditative and trance inducing. To look up and realize you've done that much and not really aware as it happened.  Noticing the bumblebees slowly foraging on the salvia as the air cools, then coaxing them onto your garden glove trustingly.

I've not felt productive this weekend, overlooking that I've watered plants and scrubbed bird baths and completed loads of laundry.  Maybe it was dozing on the porch yesterday when I was trying to watch finches on the thistle, or maybe it was just having that last lazy day before I was no longer alone in the house.  Either way, now I wonder if I can get motivated enough to get up early, weed a bit, and then get ready for work.  Then I remember the book I'm reading and know I'll more likely stay up too late with that, and be dead to the world in the morning.

The weeds will be there, won't they?