It is hard to dig in heavy soil

The damp made it difficult to pierce the earth with the shovel. With as much force as she could muster, she drove her weight down on top of it to scoop off another load of soil. One down, who knew how many to go. It had to be deep enough, after all. And big enough in all other dimensions. All she could think about was that it wasn’t supposed to have rained today and this was supposed to be easier. If the morning had not been spent procrastinating, perhaps, but now the time neared dusk. If she wanted this done right, she was running out of time.

The recipient stood motionless nearby, unable to assist. Unable to do anything but wait for her to finish the hole. She didn’t look over at the hole’s soon-to-be occupant. She didn’t need to. She shouldn’t have waited, she kept telling herself. She knew what she had to do today. Perhaps she should have prepared for it yesterday. Procrastination had struck her again and she ran out of the bare light that remained to her.

There. Deep and wide. She smiled to herself, looking down at it. That had to be good enough, she decided. Finally, sure of the space required, she reached over and took the sapling by the supple trunk and lowered it into the hole. In this place she had painstakingly chosen, it would hopefully flourish. Now, not minding the lack of light, she filled the earth back in around the roots. It was almost too dark by the time she had finished, but she had finished. In the dusk, the small tree stood almost tall. Happily, she patted the dirt firmly down around the trunk and then left.


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