Stubborn. Defiant. Flourishing where it shouldn’t be. A little piece of the Middle East on my garden raft right here in Seattle:
Sometimes I prune it a little: take off a few slender branches, and hang them by my front door until they brown and dry up. My peace offering to the world. Nobody seems to notice, but that’s okay: how could Pacific Northwesterners know what an olive branch looks like? Lucky people, why would they even need to?