“She comes outside about once a week, usually towing a large weed eater and garden bags. She putters around the rest of the yard before she lays her sights on me. Setting the weed eater and other small tools aside, she grunts and curses under her breath as she approaches with thick rubbery gloves. There is no need for her tools here. She pulls and yanks frantically at me. It never works. My roots are already deep. They are growing under this cold gravel, trying desperately to penetrate the nearby asphalt. How i came to be she does not know. Why am i here? She does not want me, but i am here and i will grow. I WILL grow! And her rubbery hands and meager strength are no match for me.” by- amy.