Shear Joy

Aside from the crepe myrtle, I have no idea what grows in front of my house. Be it wisteria or weeds, it's all a nuisance, threatening to overtake my front steps and suffocate the air conditioning unit. So from time to time I take my Walmart garden shears and do battle.

I cut like a mad woman on a thrill kill spree, attacking the greenery with a savagery and feeling the daily stress and frustration pour out. It's pattern-less and random destruction. Leaves and branches and vines with a life of their own pile up at my feet - a window is exposed, then another and another. I clear through to the a/c unit, chopping and hacking, each cut is a satisfaction. When I'm done and the steps and walkway clear, I'm exhausted, hot, patchy with dirt and bleeding here and there (the greenery is often inclined to fight for its own survival), but well pleased. I was not born with this animosity toward Mother Nature, the feeling developed following my 2nd divorce as I sought an outlet to channel my anger and a safe method to vent. A friend suggested smashing lightbulbs against concrete but I wanted an enemy, someone or something substantial that I could seek out and destroy without causing real harm. Greenery presented the perfect target, garden shears presented the perfect weapon although if I thought I could've managed one, a chain saw would've been my first choice.

My emotions tend to follow an inward path to my gut where they bide their time, layer upon layer, scheming and planning how to make mischief or take their revenge. A nasty, little hurt feeling befriends a flash of temper, they marry and have a houseful of petty resentments, all of which grow until there is no room left in the inn. A spark of loneliness gets together with a leftover slice of self pity, a dull piece of anger runs into a mouthy piece of sarcasm and they gossip and breed until they explode and spill out like a box of toothpicks aimed at the nearest target.
Pinpricks have managed to turn themselves into gaping wounds, and all because I wasn't paying attention. So let others plant their flower beds and trim their yards with roses and pansies. Let others seed, water, mulch, fertilize and lose sleep over the lawns next door or whether the tomato plants will survive. For my part, I will continue to wage war on the vegetation. We all must tend our gardens as we see fit.