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Beautiful nothing

My daughter was barely 2 years old when she taught me a valuable lesson. Through untarnished eyes and a mind not yet indoctrinated by conventions of beauty, she revealed to me the glory in flowers which I had for so long disregarded as simply troublesome weeds.
Drawing my attention to the rich vibrancy of colour, the soft, velvet textures and the sheer determination to survive and flourish in a harsh, risk encapsulated environment; full of excited unbridled joy, my daughter would rush into the garden drawn by their splendour, declaring them to be "so pretty" and just "so lovely."

Neglecting to mow the lawn for dare I say more than a few weeks, I had unwittingly become expert at weed growing. My front lawn a botanical oasis of wispy long stems of Paspalum, Mullumbibmy Couch,  Cirsium and Dandelions.

To my neighbours- a veritable mess that needed swift attending to. Ah but to my daughter, our front garden was an abundance of natural beauty, overflowing with 'wishy' flowers, daisy chains and fairies! How could I ever think to mow, pluck or poison?

Who convinced us that the prickly, fussy, delicate Rose is more beautiful and more worthy of adoration, than the robust, independent and hardy Dandelion? 

Give me weeds! For I shall revel in the beauty that is the wild of nature.

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