With these gloves, I became the conqueror of my backyard

The hulking weeds loomed over me, casting their dark shadows across the serene ground. Their twisted vines had wormed their way into the earth, seeping into the soil like a cancer, staking an illegitimate claim on this blessed place. They mocked me as I tried to wrest them from the ground with my hands, but they would not budge. Defeated, I slinked back to my meager shack, inconspicuous in a remote woodland village miles away from any society or modern convenience, to resume my miserable career as a blogger.

But today, they shrivel at the sight of my textured bamboo gardening gloves, a gift from a stranger with a mind beyond human comprehension, who spoke of things I dared not understand. The gloves afford me a grip so strong that I tear each weed from the ground as a prehistoric reptile would tear its prey, and I hurl the weeds into the hole I have dug for them.

Layer by layer, I remove the weeds from the ground, until the earth is revealed, naked and unashamed. I look closely at the soil, sniffing its deep, pungent scent. This dirt, these ungodly grubs that inhabit it, I own them. I own them not because I crawl across the ground like a dog, but because I am the apex predator of the earth. I am above this soil. I am above these weeds. I am above all that is weak. I OWN THIS GROUND.