Near where I work, a curious experiment is underway, and its semi-futility is fascinating. An attempt is being made to create a small natural meadow in the heart of the city, using as many of the original species as possible. The result of this, as was predicted, is that the students involved have to spend most of their time weeding out non-original invasive species, i.e. weeds. What makes weeds so interesting and ineradicable, like cockroaches and pigeons, is that they thrive on human activity. They love disturbed ground, they breed rapidly, and they mimic the crops and other preferred species very closely, even twining themselves around their mimic, so getting rid of them is hell. And many of them were trucked or boated in by people who wanted things that could grow in dry places (apartments) or tough places (rocky gardens). As long as we thrive, weeds will thrive: they are our green shadow self. And we move ever further from some imaginary original state of natural balance. So the students weed on, sweating in the still warm autumn sun, tugging away at their little ecological morality tale. (p.t.)