There it sits, the noble weed. It One, tiny, weed-seed found its way to this small pot, and now it’s growing, well, like a weed! A university professor once told me, “Writers think in metaphors.” I never forgot that remark. And even now as I ponder this bit of nature, I can’t help but think of it in terms of something else. The word “invasive” comes to mind — a war metaphor. Invasive (bad) plants “take over” one’s yard or garden and ruthlessly “drive out or kill” the well-tended (good) plants.
This weed though was contained! At first I thought it was a flower, a wild flower, exotic, lovely, something to amaze. It grew and grew. Its weedy nature manifested itself in an appalling sprawl of stems and tiny blooms, hardly worth noticing. But I did notice.
On several occasions, I reached out to snatch it out of the pot, to expunge it from my well-tended porch flowers, but each time I withheld my hand. What? I couldn’t do it. It was growing. Finally, one morning, I pulled it aside. I studied it carefully and noted how each stem branched out, then formed a node, then zoomed out in another direction, expanding, like a circuit, a network. It possessed a neuronal look. Each node an idea, a thought…a memory.
A memory that creates an order out of chaos, its own narrative, a natural story. This plant is communicating its life to the world beyond its leafy existence. It patiently waits for the morning sun that is rising through the trees. A redbird balances on the black chain-link fence then disappears into the fir tree. I wave to my neighbor watering her yellow roses. A wasp buzzes over the grass. At the edge of woods in the shade, small, brown mushrooms push through the soil.
So, dear blogger writers, photographers, dancers, artists, good people, what’s the latest metaphor that has come to mind, and how so?