We attacked the thorn bush today.
Some would say a rose bush.
We have been attacked by its thorny vines for a year now.
Today, we fought back.
If the roses were blooming and gave off that rosey scent, we may have hesitated.
In this drought, and without constant watering, there were no blooms, nor a scent.
Instead, there were thorn-studded vines climbing their way over our gutter, and along our window.
The ancient bush was a literal tangle of thorns.
Wrapped in tense interlocking lines, each vine was in need of separation.
The bush spiked us a few times, but the pile grew substantial.
The wild bush was tamed. The gutter was free.
The compost bin was filled once again, as it has been so many weekends this summer.
When finished, we wiped the sweat from our brow.
I heard the bush whisper, “We will meet again…”