Writing Opportunity #11 – Protected

Writing Opportunity #11 was pretty to the point:

Conflict. Real or imagined. External or internal. Whatever it is, there’s no denying there is a problem. 500 words.

So much to pick and dissect out of here! What do you find?

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I pull the spiky nettle from the dirt and place it in the pile. For such a tall, intruding plant, it comes up easily. I should be wearing gloves to prevent the small spikes from piercing my skin, but the shed that holds the plastic tote that holds the mismatched gardening gloves is too far. Like, 50 feet too far. I’m good.

I also have a good rhythm going. Seek, pull, twist, drop. The skin perforations caused by the pulling of the weed, mini stabbings of nature, actually give savory assurance that I’m doing something productive. I’m taming the wild. Doing my God-given duty to maintain my patch of earth.

Common nettle, Urtica dioica: “I will hurt you in order to self-protect.”

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Wow, I feel accomplished; what’s next?

The edges of our yard are home to the elusive bindweed (also known by the more innocent name of “morning glory”). I pull the thin stems from the ground, and they just tear and tear. Snap, snap, snap. I know how difficult it is to get the root (close to impossible). Its root system grows horizontally and can grow over 10 feet per season. But I keep pulling, no matter how futile, knowing this plant will follow me well into empty-nesting.

The green wad of twine-like vine gets deposited into trash. The remnants in the ground are already repairing itself in defiant sprouting.

See you again next week, invasive monster!

Field bindweed, Convovulus arvensis: “I will spread my roots to self-protect.”

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I only have energy for one more. Let’s see …

My gaze is trying to avoid the blanket of bryony, but I relent. Wishing I had a machete, I grab a pathetic pair of shears in the shed and face the music. The berries are already saying hello, as if a distraction to the fact that the rest of the plant has eaten up the fencing. Wait, is this poisonous? I thought someone ate these berries last summer. I stop and glare at the matted coat of foliage and wonder how many creatures have staked claim to this mess as their home.

I shiver and give up.

White bryony, Bryonia alba: “I will climb and overwhelm to self-protect.”

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I ready my shower with the perfect dialing of hot and cold. My softest towel is within reach. I step in and breathe in the steam. Gray, heavy suds swirl down the drain and eventually transition to creamy white fluff. I stand for a long time admittedly wasting water but balance the slight guilt with the fact that this is good for my emotional health.

Now, I’m ready to get out … nope.

Now … nope.

Okay … now.

I wrap my towel around me as a backyard breeze enters from the open window and circulates throughout the bathroom welcoming me back to the real world.

A lingering glance in the mirror allows me to soak in my rawness and smile.

I am protected.