BATTLE OF THE BURRS
This time of year, they aren't too bad, almost like little balls of velcro that cling to clothes, but are easily plucked free. They make for a great distraction during the lazy dog days of late summer.
Once they dry out though, it's a whole different mess. Individual brown spikes cling voraciously, almost digging in deeper as you struggle to rip them free.
They thrive for socks - sport, wool, cotton, it doesn't matter. They dig deep, and cling tight, scratching their way into the confine where the tender flesh of ankles awaits.
They are ingenious nuisances, hitching a ride and spreading their seeds with ease, steadily setting pace to commandeer the entire forest floor by the following Spring.
For now though, they are fun projectiles, clinging to clothes and hair with reckless abandon as we hoot and holler our way through the wilderness, miniature barbed mines that float just right as they seek out their targets.
They are a perfect way to pass a warm afternoon in August.
I duck and role as one bounces uselessly off a nearby tree, much to close for comfort. With a loud cry, I explode upward and let loose a volley, before fleeing for cover.
The battle will rage in until my mother's distant call to dinner. It will be an epic battle.
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