Crispy

I found my way to the garden on a frosty morning for a quick look about and weed.

The soil was crunchy past 1/4″ down. The stirrup hoe pulling sheets of earth along. Occasionally, a saucer of soil dragging an onion from its slumber.

The weeds in the pathways look a lace pattern, their name “henbit” sounding a fit.

They, as their dandy lion neighbor, not minding the season’s change as does the persistent potatoes I was hoping to harvest for Christmas.