An artifact of strangeness poked up from our garden.
I asked Tim if he knew what it was.
“I found an onion in the garage,” he said. “It had sprouted, so I planted it.”
Tim is allergic to onions. We never have them in meals, but last winter I bought some, and when I cooked stew in the crock pot I’d slice one in half and add it for flavor, taking it out afterward. Guess I forgot one.
What does an onion do?
And what should we do with it?
When we’re ready, I suppose we’ll dig it up and decide.
They are strikingly beautiful in their own way aren’t they. The mundane . The intricate.
Yes, Deb, so true. One day this summer I sat out back and looked at overgrown grass and saw art and beauty. Needing to do that more often.
Ah, little grasshopper, you have found the secret to happiness — to look “at overgrown grass” and see art and beauty. Stunning photos. Isn’t it remarkable how something so “ordinary” looks exotic and special when the lens is focused on it?
We have lots of wild onions that spring up every year down by the gate. They look like miniature versions of a regular onion. I usually notice them first after I step on them to pick up the newspaper! Then I walk back to the house, suddenly hungry for pizza!
Onions are gorgeous once they bloom, and…lol, smell like onions. I agree, they’re beautiful pictures. :)
Now I have to go out and smell the garden!