Now what is that?
Over there by the hand-painted handicapped sign?
It's a weed, I think, growing in a crack.
How dare it?
How could it?
The last two weeks have been 'death to all plants'.
Grass is giving up the fight and browning in great waves.
Plants I coddle and cool with sprinklers are pouting--wilting in surrender.
Yet this little weed is growing in an asphalt crack.
On the parking lot.
In the sun.
So. . . well. . .
I carried him a cup of water.