I am implacable -- a ruthless harasser of my enemy. A tangerine hued nemesis called the oriental bittersweet. Not the tethering vine, the round-leafed sprout, the dark leaved, woody, sun-starved shrub. Those are only its most superficial disguises -- its forays into the light.
No, I know that the soul and body of my enemy is the orange root-vine lurking, linking dark redoubt to dark redoubt underneath the moss and fallen leaves. I snap the shoots, cut the vinestems -- attack the supply lines for sugar and carbon. But it's only when the hairy, orange rootbody comes up that I feel the grim, satisfying pang of a blow well-struck.
Last summer's challengers, the poison ivy and the greenbrier still send out their scouts and their sneaking runners, but I dispatch them without malice. I have my enemy.