What makes a weed a weed and a flower a flower?

I thought that question as I walked through a barren field today. The ground was dry and cracked even though it had rained more in the previous days than it had in the last six months. The West’s ground always looks that way. It’s always thirsty. Always wanting more.

This field was barren in the sense of what humans think barren. There was no edible fruit. No plants that you would like to have in your backyard. There was plenty of cacti defending their plots of life with their menacing thorns. And there were ants. Bigger ants than most people on the East coast will probably ever see. Ants with pinchers that look like fangs of death. I imagine a colony of those ants could cart away a small dog or child.

And there were also . . . I am still debating what to call it. They are flowers to me, but the rest of Earth’s population would most likely call them weeds. Their purpose is the same as any blossom. Bees do not discriminate. They get pollinated regardless. But we pluck them and kill them. Is it because they are small or because they offended someone important somewhere? Or is there another story just as crazy that I have not heard? I do not know, but they are still pretty to me. And that is why I take their pictures. Because they deserve their recognition. God made them, too.