Spring has come.

[latitude_mama]

Spring has come.

I reach for the unsightly old weeds.  Their ancient bleached skeletons break off in my leather gloved hand.  Their wizened frostbitten roots remain embedded in the nurturing soil. They are dead. They can only stub my toes and bruise my heels with the reminders of their presence. No longer are they tall and waving proud with large

Comments

[anonymous]

I so get the stubbing your toe. After the birds have feasted off the weed seeds all winter there should be some magic way to insta compost:)
Suelynn