They Don’t Feel Pity…

I’ve been back on the yard work, starting early while it’s cool. And wet. Yes, it rained last night (first time in weeks), so everything’s sodden, including me. I’m taking a breather break for a slurp of tea and to rest my back and hip (they’re giving me gyp already).

Still, I’m about a third done. I’d have got further if not for the weed in the picture (this weed is #6 in a series of . . . well, a lot; I’m collecting the set, it seems).


Heavy, fleshy green stuff on a fibrous endoskeleton that needs a machete to chop through. It can’t be reasoned with. It can’t be bargained with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or anger. It is the T-101 of weeds.

I’d better get back to it. Phased plasma rifle at the ready. Well, if I had one. Just what you see, pal.

More later, including before-and-after pics.

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