We call them “weed trees” because that’s what they become.
Trees.
And I sat under one today, my back pressed against it’s flesh,
relishing in its protection from the heat.
It impressed me, this weed tree,
how tall it had become,
the strength of its sturdy trunk.
We spend hours digging weed roots out of our yards,
wrestling with strong root systems.
But some manage to avoid plucking fingers,
and make their way into air,
forming arches, towers, protection
and homes to small creatures.
So much energy is spent to clear the path for the lavender,
the pansies, the rosemary, the lilacs.
But looking up at the sky, there are the weed trees
that look down upon us,
like elders,
telling the story of trying to make their way
through the adversity of
being unwanted.
-Summer Nicklasson
