A weed grows at the end of my driveway where it crosses the sidewalk into the street. One day it sprouts white flowers. It is small, and few if any people will notice it or care. But it’s beautiful–and stubbornly determined.       It is completely surrounded and wedged in by slabs of concrete—not a good place to be planted, but it is. So it grows anyway in the little dirt it finds between the slabs and with the little water spared by the arid sky.      As I take the photo, a friendly sheriff’s deputy stops…