My garden weeds were actually flowers. I just didn’t know it a few months back. I almost pulled those gangly eyesores. But the pink roses that bloomed unexpectedly in my own back garden, without any help from me, prompted me to take a wait and see approach. After all, I had limited horticultural knowledge in the States; I was even more clueless here in the strange and bipolar climate that is London. So I left those weeds alone, let them get good and ugly. Then a peculiar thing began to happen. They bloomed. They turned into this: And this: Even the vine arching our front door produced these masterpieces, as…