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That Kind of Soil

Yesterday bought materials and today made a soil screen and began screening out the stones and pebbles from the garden soil, the better to accommodate carrots and gobo and the other roots, which aren't happy with stones in their shoes and poking them in the ribs, who is? And how elegant then is the destoned soil, how concentrated and lovely and organically purposeful, cocoa in its musky richness like the finest growth stuff, nascent food, imminently ready to turn into daikon or onions at the mere snap of a season. The still totally stoned soil adjacent looks distinctly unworked, unemployed, homeless, wild, fodder for weeds, derelict troublemaker, mocker of one who aspires to onions. I used to hang around with that kind of soil. I used to be that kind of soil.