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Weekly Contest #94
Lacey knelt between her rows of tulips, pulling out any growth that might be encroaching on her precious bulbs. Lacey’s fingertips were still nimble despite the oversized gloves and the seventy-five years she had aged. She was keen to pick out any sprout of crabgrass or dandelion that kept cropping up on this side of the yard. The west side of her yard ran parallel to the fence that thankfully held in the mess that was the neighbor’s lawn. That lawn was filled with blotches of color and plants from places she could hardly pronounce. There we...
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