The meadow is damp; footfall leaves the
sign of its passing.
Above, the sky begins to clear.
But below the ground is still hard from the
summer’s droughts.
The pickaxe swings in the October air and
tears the grass dragging it to one side.
A root is exposed, severed and the dry
earth crumbles under the cold steel.
Grass, root and earth are damaged.
Life ebbs.
Another grave.
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