Brambles (and gorse) have become my sworn enemy. The way every rain inspires fresh vines to shoot up, clinging to ferns and bushes, dead or alive, for added strength, feels almost surreal. In fact, I dream of one day setting up time-lapse photography to see how far they grow in 24 hours.
I bring my garden shears along for those trails that consistently suffer the onslaught of bramble “cobwebs.” I find “invasive” a gentle word for these nasty beasts.
I emerge from these adventures with bloody scrapes and punctures across my arms, legs, and face, but am— for the moment— victorious! (You should see the other guy.) But one day, these delicate raspberry blooms appeared, emerging from the most astonishingly shaped, graceful, mint green buds.
In that moment, all was forgiven.
Brambles (and gorse) have become my sworn enemy. The way every rain inspires fresh vines to shoot up, clinging to ferns and bushes, dead or alive, for added strength, feels almost surreal. In fact, I dream of one day setting up time-lapse photography to see how far they grow in 24 hours.
I bring my garden shears along for those trails that consistently suffer the onslaught of bramble “cobwebs.” I find “invasive” a gentle word for these nasty beasts.
I emerge from these adventures with bloody scrapes and punctures across my arms, legs, and face, but am— for the moment— victorious! (You should see the other guy.) But one day, these delicate raspberry blooms appeared, emerging from the most astonishingly shaped, graceful, mint green buds.
In that moment, all was forgiven.
