“I love to move like a mouse inside this puzzle for the body, balancing the wish to be lost
with the need to be found.”

― Billy Collins, Questions About Angels

Each spring I clear out the bishops weed. I pull it up by handfuls, dumping it into the yard waste to be hauled away.
Each spring it comes back.

I tuck stems into the first cut flower arrangements, its daintiness bringing a sense of old fashioned flare to the vase.