Monday, June 23, 2008

Mint Condition

I slumped to my knees in exhaustion as I gazed upon the detritus of the now eerily quiet battlefield. The carcasses of my enemies lay strewn in piles, the stench burning my nostrils and making my eyes water. It had been a fierce battle. At times I was near surrender before I called upon reservoirs of strength that I never knew I possessed to carry forth the fight. Bone weary I struggled to my feet, to bag and cart away the deceased before the next day’s blazing sun and heat could do its damage, and before their brethren could rally around their martyrdom.

No matter how weary my body, I could not find rest that night. Even the slightest movement of my aching muscles reminding me of the savagery that had taken place just hours earlier. When I did sleep, it was for brief periods that were invariably broken by dreams that ended with me being awoken by the sound of my own screams. Mostly, though, what kept me awake was the ice-cold realization that far underground, the roots of resurgence were talking hold, and that I had only won the first battle in what would certainly be a long and protracted war.

For the remainder of my days, I knew would spend the better part of each summer locked in battle with my sworn enemy: the mint plants that had invaded my garden.