t.hazelden
weeds
A weed, somebody once told me, is a plant that somebody else doesn’t want.
Keep your manicured golf-course grass, the tidy arborvitae and sedum sitting pretty. I prefer a plant that thinks for itself, one that hitches rides on fur and pant legs and birds and wind. A weed isn’t likely to care what you think. But if you come near enough to look closely, it’ll bewitch you every time.
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