So we walk and I think and we walk some more and it's good for my head.  Very good.  We stop and we stop, as is the way when walking with very small people,  and it's good for noticing. Good for remembering. We pass the burdock, now mostly withered and angry sharp. How many have I pulled off socks and manes and tails and dogs? How many times have we been surprised by a piercing stab? A menace in the field they are. Useless. 

But  I look closer. 

And then I know better. 

There is always a blossom hidden in the thorn.