Sometimes weeds grow up in a place not for lack of attention, but rather for lack of intention.
Weeding by my gate this morning, I wonder whether to pull up the volunteer clumps of grass. The gravel that was laid in the spot is so dull – and maybe grass would be more soft and inviting? Well, I don’t know. And not knowing means that the gravel remains and weeds sprout up.
Amongst the “weeds” are dandelions – food plants, deliberately brought to the Americas by people who knew hunger. And they grow even in shade and gravel (and everywhere else in my yard).
As the festival of Shavuot nears, the culmination of seven weeks of seven days of waiting for the harvest, I wonder how I overlook (or even and scorn) nourishment that comes unbidden. I wonder how this gateway, this space I pass through on most days could better mark transition, intention and still offer up surprise blessings?
