Russ started in the southeast corner. By year-end, he’d reached the far side of the field, which looked like a Somme battlefield.
Eventually curiosity got the better of me “Whatya doin’, Russ?”
He didn’t even stop digging. “What’s it look like?”
That seemed a trick question, so I didn’t say. I tried a different tack. “What for ya diggin’ holes in the ground, Russ?”
He was knee deep in the pit so that seemed a stupid answer.
“It ain’t the holes, idiot, it’s the rims,” he said. Snow began to fall.
“Like lace,” he said.
I’m afraid Russell’s picture tickled me so much I had another go at it. Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here