Weeds never quit. They sprout on the edges and in the thick of things.
I pull them out. Easily. Their small roots dangling with dirt. Then I cast them aside in the trash.
The next day, coming back from my walk, I check the state of the yard. Weeds. More of them.
They are relentless. Through drought and flood. In season and out of season. Crowding out the chosen plants.
