Monday, June 20, 2016


"Thanks for letting me help, Grandmother."
Alice and I were weeding behind the fence of her backyard and up against the garage.  Michael had helped with four tall weeds, just enough to know that he didn't like the scratchy feeling of the plants against his arms, not the repetition of pulling weeds, one after another.

Alice had bigger dreams.  She took the weed pile that I was collecting and dragged it back into her yard on the other side of the fence, trailing weeds and roots all along the way as she took them back to her mother's lovely tended vegetable garden.

Better I should have left the weeds growing than have to pick up the mess my helper Alice made.


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