Subjugation of the Weed

I descended from the fence and marched down the gravel incline to claim the roadside. A towering thistle dared to sway against my path, waving its prickly crown as if it held dominion here. Unacceptable. I seized its prickly stem with both hands and bent it until the fibrous spine snapped beneath my grip. It bowed into the dirt, entirely subject to my rule. To cement its defeat, I kicked a heavy, moss-covered pebble over its ruined leaves. Every stubborn root along this ditch now understands the price of insolence.