The rock is in bloom. The smells are incredible. It's beautiful. Alfalfa, flowers and natural grasses wave in the wind. One variety of grass I'm watching is called cheatgrass. It grows in bunches, tall and soft. I love to watch it move. Sadly, I know what it is to become. A prickly, stickly, thorn in my side. Or in my socks. In a few months, I won't be able to walk through the field without attracting hundreds. Or at least tens. They'll wedge themselves between my socks and my shoes and poke mercilessly. Until I stop. Take off my shoes. Take off my socks. And pick them out. One. By. One.
The Parallel:
Sometimes, doing the wrong thing seems harmless. Not a big deal. Poor choices are like cheatgrass. They seem innocent and fun. But they are what they are. By nature, they'll grow. Prickly and Stickly. They can't help it. They'll poke mercilessly. And we'll wish that all we had to do was sit down, take off our shoes and pull them out.
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