debrambleer
The Debrambleer had done extensive work in the garden and blueberry areas of his estate, clearing the garden and part of the blueberries of the prickly interlopers. But now he grew tired of the scenery and decided it was time to go to other areas of the property and make an impression on the brambles there.
Down on the bedroom end of the yard, the brambles had been trying to make a deal. They promised to produce a few blackberries in exchange for them being allowed to live. But I had dealt with these villains before and knew that they intended only to completely overgrow the whole area.
It was well late in the day when the Debrambleer confidently strode toward the leafy offenders with his deadly weapon in hand. On hands and knees he started forcibly ripping the encroachers from the soil. With a mighty stroke, his hardwood handled mattock/tiller flashed in an arc through the air, and its blade was plunged into the ground. Each return stroke would result in ripping the plant out by the roots. One could almost hear their little plant screams as their roots bit the air.
The warrior slowly worked his way around the good plants that were under attack by these creeping thieves of soil nutrients, uprooting all offensive plant growths in his path. The sun was now sinking low and light was slowly starting to fade when in the depths of these growths the keeper of good plants realized with a start that the plants had called in WMDs – Weeds of Massive Dermatitis.
The enemy plants had evidently hired these WMDs – poison ivy by name – to punish the keeper in case he made just such an attack. This maliciously intended WMD, though a surprise, was taken in stride and very carefully pried from the ground and cast forth into the outer dimness – since it wasn’t dark yet.
The day was ending and the night was coming – when no man can work – so the keeper-warrior gathered the dead and dying plant bodies and put them in the gardener’s version of the body bag – a five-gallon plastic bucket. Then they were taken to the refuse pile to be later burned and their ashes used to nourish the soil from which their evil carcasses sprang.
While returning to his sanctuary, the warrior noted that he had not gone entirely unscathed in this skirmish. Just above the gauntlets of his battle gloves were the wounds inflicted by the thorns of the brambles while in their death throes. He felt this was a small price to pay for the massive defeat he had wreaked upon them.
This small, mostly tongue-in-cheek battle only serves to remind the tender of the soil that he is in a much larger spiritual battle in an eternal arena. As a warrior of God, he has been supplied armor and an undefeatable weapon, the Word of God, but it is his choice to use them and allow them to be of benefit not only to him but also to the world around him.
May he always choose to use them in correct ways and at proper times, according to the direction and leadership of the Captain of the mighty Host. ec
Down on the bedroom end of the yard, the brambles had been trying to make a deal. They promised to produce a few blackberries in exchange for them being allowed to live. But I had dealt with these villains before and knew that they intended only to completely overgrow the whole area.
It was well late in the day when the Debrambleer confidently strode toward the leafy offenders with his deadly weapon in hand. On hands and knees he started forcibly ripping the encroachers from the soil. With a mighty stroke, his hardwood handled mattock/tiller flashed in an arc through the air, and its blade was plunged into the ground. Each return stroke would result in ripping the plant out by the roots. One could almost hear their little plant screams as their roots bit the air.
The warrior slowly worked his way around the good plants that were under attack by these creeping thieves of soil nutrients, uprooting all offensive plant growths in his path. The sun was now sinking low and light was slowly starting to fade when in the depths of these growths the keeper of good plants realized with a start that the plants had called in WMDs – Weeds of Massive Dermatitis.
The enemy plants had evidently hired these WMDs – poison ivy by name – to punish the keeper in case he made just such an attack. This maliciously intended WMD, though a surprise, was taken in stride and very carefully pried from the ground and cast forth into the outer dimness – since it wasn’t dark yet.
The day was ending and the night was coming – when no man can work – so the keeper-warrior gathered the dead and dying plant bodies and put them in the gardener’s version of the body bag – a five-gallon plastic bucket. Then they were taken to the refuse pile to be later burned and their ashes used to nourish the soil from which their evil carcasses sprang.
While returning to his sanctuary, the warrior noted that he had not gone entirely unscathed in this skirmish. Just above the gauntlets of his battle gloves were the wounds inflicted by the thorns of the brambles while in their death throes. He felt this was a small price to pay for the massive defeat he had wreaked upon them.
This small, mostly tongue-in-cheek battle only serves to remind the tender of the soil that he is in a much larger spiritual battle in an eternal arena. As a warrior of God, he has been supplied armor and an undefeatable weapon, the Word of God, but it is his choice to use them and allow them to be of benefit not only to him but also to the world around him.
May he always choose to use them in correct ways and at proper times, according to the direction and leadership of the Captain of the mighty Host. ec
posted by mreddie | 9:46 AM
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