Home Among the Weeds

At our former home
my beloved disliked
our Rose of Sharon trees—
he likened them to weeds.

Yet I am convinced
that it is always the “weeds”
that provide the most refuge
without asking anything in return.

In five minutes,
I watched six hummingbirds
zoom around the blossoms
as they jockeyed for a chance
at each unfurling blossom.

I watched cardinals
and Carolina wrens fight
over the ripening grape clusters
from the vine
that is supported by not one but two trees
along our fence.

I watched butterflies—
humble little skippers,
but also hairstreaks, fritillaries,
and oh my God, even a monarch,
once so ubiquitous
but now almost as surprising to see
as a Bengal tiger. 

Even on my deck I could hear
the thrum of probably thirty bumble bees
hovering like tugboats from blossom to bloom,
staying aloft
only God knows how.

We owe our lives
to the “weeds” of this world,
to their humble welcome
and hospitality,
anchoring the chain of life.

Is that not beautiful?

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