Blue and dark-blue
rose and deepest rose
white and pink they 

are everywhere in the diligent 
cornfield rising and swaying 
in their reliable

finery in the little
fling of their bodies their 
gear and tackle 

all caught up in the cornstalks. 
The reaper’s story is the story 
of endless work of 

work careful and heavy but the 
reaper cannot 
separate them out there they 

are in the story of his life 
bright random useless
year after year 

taken with the serious tons 
weeds without value 
humorous beautiful weeds.

Mary Oliver

I am taken by the beauty of life’s weeds, when I allow myself to see them. Humorous beautiful weeds. Inextricably tied to the core of life. Perhaps weeds get a bad rap in our rush for manicured perfection? If I love life’s fruits and flowers, I want to embrace life’s weeds as well.

Weeds are essential to life.

They ask us to make the search for beauty an intentional pursuit. They ask us to pay attention to the what we label a plant or flower (useful and/or beautiful) and what we label a weed (useless and/or something to be culled and pulled).

They ask us to find beauty, humor, joy, and value in the most unusual of places. It is no accident that morning glories are called morning glories (a very cheerful, hopeful name.) It is no accident that clovers make honey possible (a very useful purpose.) It is no accident that poetry is written about violets (making sure even violets are not overlooked.) Are the wildflowers that grow randomly and with unapologetic beauty and bravery — seeds seemingly spread by wind and rain — a weed or a flower? I am sure if I searched long enough I would even find something good to say about dandelions.

Think deeply about life’s weeds. Pay attention to their role in our world. Even taste them if you are so inclined. See them as part of life’s garden. Make reaping and culling a delicate act of making space.