Power Lines

I hang out under the power lines, as I have for years. Every bike ride starts or ends there for me, and I wander. It’s wild there, and I identify with it. Right now, the pokeweed, hogwort, and goldenrod blaze in their final glories. Authorities have tried to kill it back a million times, but never succeed. It is bigger, stronger, more feral than they will ever be. It holds the power, and in honoring it, I hold the power, too.

Tonight the election results across my city, state and country will roll in, and the media will present this as who is now in power. But they will be wrong. It will always be the wild plants under the power lines. And those of us who honor them.