The Weed Sleeps
It’s been a good summer. More space claimed. The sky laced with pollen. Basking in the sun like lords of the land.
The newspapers went crazy this time. There were lurid front page stories of children’s skin burnt away by sap. Really, what did they expect if they played among aliens without learning about them first?
But it’s nearly autumn. Time for the Giant Hogweed to droop and whither away to a skeleton. Finally to collapse, all rickety, to the ground.
Not dead though. Just waiting the the air to change and spring to come again.
Sleeping beneath the ground.
Damian Mark Whittle