I recall walking out of the yard, and on to the road overlooking the city far below. I was barely four years old, then.
I saw a milkweed plant on the roadside. Its delicate pink and beige flowers, were alive with jewel-like metallic green beetles, and orange milkweed bugs. I was fascinated, and so I picked some, and brought it home to my mother.
But Mother said it stunk, and forced me to dispose of it. I
didn’t understand why she didn’t like my bouquet, so I brought home some more.
Once again, she angrily threw it out.
“Don’t you bring that smelly skunkweed home or run away
again! Do you hear? It might be poisonous!” And she locked me in the back yard.