They are Memories.

  Weeds can be beautiful!  That is a good claim.  Or, better yet, they are not weeds, they are wildflowers!  Yep, I am sticking with those two.  Weeding the gardens has come to a screeching halt. I was doing rather well for the past month or so but, today, weeding has ended.  Critters have ruled.  Mind you, I like critters or, at least, most critters but there are a few that I can do without.  If I never see (or rather feel) another gnat again in my lifetime, I would be perfectly happy.  The sheer bliss of not being eaten alive would outweigh any "loss" I might suffer by the extinction of gnats.  Those things are not good for anything, as far as I can see.

  That said, I have no problem with a few...umm..wildflowers growing in among the plants.  They sort of make the garden plot a bit more interesting.  Sure, all of you enthusiastic gardeners who abhor any weed making an appearance will sharply disagree with me but, then again, it matters not.  I tend to ignore nick-picky folks anyway.  Only those that live on a bayou that breeds billions of biting critters will fully understand my take on this.  But, weeds are beautiful...as I have said.

  This afternoon, a leisurely stroll through the gardens found me enthralled by as simple weed.  A Wood Sorrel blooms were spilling about in the midst of my parsley and bell peppers.  Their happy little blossoms were highlighted by the setting sun as the dark shadows blocked out most of the other plants.  The sight almost entranced me and sent the brain into a whirl of happy thoughts.  These tiny blooms are tied to so many things of my past.  Pop always used to let them grow in the zinnia beds.  My grandmother would pick the blooms and braid their long stems into a wreath for my hair.  Mark's grandmother had huge concrete urns filled with Wood Sorrel on either side of her front door.  As a child, I remember picking bouquets for Mom when we would be picking huckleberries in the woods. It is no wonder that I adore the plant and allow them to grow where they may.  They are not weeds..they are memories.