In the cool of the evening on this very first night of fall, my overgrown front garden called to me.

I’m a fifteen-minutes-spent-weeding-is-better-than-none kind of person, and I gently yanked until it got too dark to tell the keepers from the weeds.

I’m tolerant of many uninvited plant guests — I have birds to thank for some amazing purple asters blooming right now. 

There is one pesky thistle, though, that I wish would stay away. 

Tonight, I reached deep into the grasses to uproot one, and the prickles bit my fingers, even through the gloves. The motion stirred the lavender, and I breathed in the heady, heavenly scent.

Pain. Beauty. Sometimes you find them in the same place.