|Not bindweed, probably morning glory|
A minor victory, a temporary deliverance, that's what weeding really is, isn't it?
We pull the weeds. For a brief time, the garden looks well-kept, as though a gardener tends it.
We turn our backs. The weeds grow. They were never really gone. Beneath the surface, they waited.
We pull the weeds.
Once we accept that weeds have possession of the garden, life in the garden improves immensely, doesn't it?