To see a cactus is to see a plant well-armored and well-suited to the harshest of environments—at least, to an amateur cacti observer like me. The fleshy green exterior is solid and firm; the coat of prickles is intimidating and sharp. I give cacti a wide berth.
For that reason, I had no trouble staying on the intended path at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix, AZ. I wasn’t looking to cause any problems nor draw any of my own blood. Yet my opinion was evidently not the only one: countless signs adorned the pathway cautioning visitors against traipsing about among the cacti. Clearly, there were those who were bent on seeing the cacti up close and personal.
The signs were adamant that the cacti were, in fact, quite fragile. Disturbing the soil they called home or brushing up against the otherwise formidable outer layer of these less-than-impenetrable giants could sow seeds of disaster.
Some cacti had lived there for decades. They towered above passersby, reaching for the clear desert sky. I wondered, How many travelers had observed these prickly giants? How many had resisted the temptation to stray from the path and disregard the clear instructions? How tragic would
