I don't claim to be the best writer in the world, but I take time to recreate things that have happened in my life in the form of poetry or funny short stories. It's a way for me keep memories, provide laughter and sometimes pull myself away from my anxiety or depression. Putting pen to paper or fingers to keys is a way for me to let go of whatever is on my mind. So I bring you a short story about my battle with a Lantana.
Out I walk, through double doors, cowgirl style. My weapons of choice, a spade and a sturdy pair of gloves caked in dirt. Glaring through the afternoon light, my eyes sweep the yard. I spy my prey, two hardy Lantana's swayed with the breeze, the little purple and yellow flowers, laughing as I sauntered over. These two as big as the cowgirl about to rid the garden of these pesky annuals.
Eyeing the plants up and down, I crouch, pulling on my crusty gloves. Flexing my fingers I reach beneath the skirt of leaves. Feeling around my fingers grasp something of substantial width. Sliding my hand up, I hit a barrier of leaves and expansive growth of branches. My exploration has been foiled... for now.
Pulling my hand out, a small cut is made. Choosing some well choices words that would make a choirboy blush, I mutter these at the Lantana for such foul play. I brush my arm off, pulling out the small thorn. Swaggering over to my trusty pail, I grip a pair of rusty scissors with a deadly jagged edge.
Standing over the plants, seeing the flowers cower as I raise my gloved hand, I began to snip away at the small branches, discarding as I went. Smaller and smaller did these plants get. Stepping back, I grin in glee at my handiwork. "Not so powerful now are you, Lantana" I hear myself say.
Pushing up my sleeves and armed with my sharp and trusty spade, I once again crouch, reaching back under the wrecked skirt that had been torn with rusty blades. Cutting a circle around the base, pushing deep in to the earth. Cutting away at the small roots, chopping into the bigger, does my spade go. Satisfied that now I can pull this Lantana from the ground, what a fool was I to think that the Lantana would give up so easily! Tugging upwards with a deadly grip the Lantana does not budge. Instead the Lantana's remaining foliage grabs at my arms dragging them down, cutting at the bared flesh. Cursing, I pull out quickly, the Lantana adding more battle wounds to my limbs.
Stomping one foot, I plant my booted heel against a stone in the ground. Reaching back in, not caring about the slashing of the Lantana on my skin, I heave, leaning back, using all my cowgirl weight. Little by little do I feel the Lantana let go. Its protest calls in forms of ripping roots against dank soil littered with fertilizer.
Planting both feet and resuming my hold, I jerk and tug. Sweat pouring down my face I hear a loud pop. Before I know it, the Lantana and I are flying backwards into the soft grass. Landing on my backside, I fall backwards, my hand still holding firm to the uprooted Lantana.
Laughing and applauding my victory, I look towards the sky. My brown eyes open in horror as down spirals a clod of soft roots and earth. Before I could roll to the side, the mass of roots with clinging dirt, lands smack on my head, covering my face. Stifling a laugh, which would only bring a mouthful of dirt, I sit up, pushing away the offending mass. I say towards the Lantana "You, Lantana, have been a worthy opponent of I." Laughing, I shake the rest of the earth off the roots and throw the plant into a bin.
This is the end of this story, for the Lantana shall be never more. Another year will come...A spring will bring small Lantana's to be planted. Fall will appear, and this cowgirl will battle again.