Native grasses

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A plant is only a weed because it grows in a spot where I don't want that particular plant.
*~*


Coryell states, "Pluck out the thoughts [that are not going to take you where you want to go] as if they were weeds in your garden."

My mental image presented me with a vegetable garden. The garden is in its early phase with a few raised rows of tender sprouts. The gardener, me, is squatted over one of the rows, plucking a weed. I am wearing a hat and long sleeve shirt and jeans, even though I never wear jeans. The sun is warm and bright. The air crisp like in early spring. It is morning.

There aren't many weeds, and there aren't many tender vegetable sprouts. Mostly lots of red dirt mounds awaiting offspring.

As I pluck the weed I talk to it, but not out loud. We communicate via telepathy.

You're only a weed because I don't want you to grow here. You're welcome to grow in the meadow right over there.

The meadow is green and beige and brown and purple, a display of native grasses. But it doesn't look like early spring, more like late summer and early fall. There are some tiny white and yellow wild flowers...

I sit observing the image for a few moments. I like it.

*click*

I take a mental photo of the scene.


~*~
I like that I honor the weed and let it know it has a welcome place, just not in that spot.

Sometimes that's what I tell spiders or ants or gnats that are inside the house, before I swat them or put them outdoors...
~*~