The winds blew the tall grasses and the Cattails and Milkweed tossed their next generation gently.
They gathered in cottony youth gangs at the roots of their ancestors and thought of where they might settle down and establish roots.
Plans that weathered storms and relied on sunny days and the whims of a breeze to achieve.
With strength in numbers they rolled in unison, like a ground cloud across the pavement.
They searched for cracks, inserted themselves like soldiers in a fox hole.
This was a war, a war against this scar of buckled concrete that buried so many of their forefathers.
They fought bravely to take the space back.
While they knew they had only a season,
they believed in the potential of their own seeds that would grown with them a year and then be released to join the forces.
Despite mans valiant efforts at “improvements” through paving spaces to walk, places to drive and destinations to park,
the record shows that nature is more patient than man
and therefore always wins.