There are two things I hate about weeding. The first weed and the last weed.
The first weed is like some wall you have climb in order to start. It embodies all the sweat, toil, and effort you have in front of you.
The last weed, well the last weed is still not the end. It’s the point where you unbend yourself and realize you still have to rake and put away your tools. It’s a false hope, a frustrated finish.
But those middle weeds, those weeds are a meditation.
During the middle I make the connections. Work to result. Dirt to plant. Earth to me. In the middle I understand.