At first glance, my garden does not qualify as a garden. Rather, it looks like an abandoned lot overgrown with virulent weeds. Most of the vegetables that grow there are invisible. Actually, tomatoes are the only exception. Ripe to bursting at the top of their season, they glow red here and there. On closer inspection, they form two neat rows. Onions, which run parallel to the tomatoes, are completely invisible. But all the vegetables are growing happily in spite of the tangled intruders. In fact, the weeds provide protection from the afternoon sun, which can be quite fierce in the middle of the summer. And that is why they are there. They shield all the good things from the scorching light, but they also keep moisture close to the ground, where it is sorely needed. Or so I keep defending myself. My laziness is so deeply entrenched by now that I am starting to convince my neighbors that their gardens cannot remain viable without weeds. “Climate change,” I keep repeating with a solemn expression, “climate change!”