Little Things by Marion Strobel

Little things I’ll give to you—
Till your fingers learn to press
Gently
On a loveliness;

Little things and new—
Till your fingers learn to hold
Love that’s fragile,
Love that’s old.

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The ragweed is... coming along.

The trouble is that it spreads through increasingly woody runners, and those runners form dense networks. I'm going to need to use my pruning shears on some of these knots. Plus, twice now I've yanked up a root of the crape myrtle, and I don't know how much of this sort of nonsense that tree can stand! I shoved the roots back into the dirt each time, but nevertheless...!

I found another still alive gooseberry. Hopefully they actually grow once they're not being choked by weeds. I also ordered two clumps of native grass (clumping, not spreading) which with luck should provide the same sort of perch for the songbirds and sparrows that the ragweed does - it really is something to see four or five or six little birds all clinging sideways on one stalk of ragweed! And if it wasn't ragweed I'd be tempted to let it stay just for that, and also because ugh, all this digging. Probably we can't get quite that many one one stalk of grass, but they can enjoy it for their nests anyway.