|Voices on the Wind||Voices in the Garden|
Ground in winter by Lars Samson Hordes of four-foot-tall weeds overran the wild lands in late monsoon. Their maces buried themselves in everything within reach. Heads severing from their branch chains, so the spikes sank deeper. Skewers curling when they pierced flesh. But with winter, the rains have retreated underground. And conquerors become scarecrow stalks from which dominion has drained back into earth.