I did not hit pay dirt today,

Nor rich soil,

Nor a sandpit.

Today I hit stone after stone after stone.

Brick after brick resisted my shovel, my hoe, my curses.

All were buried under an exhausted layer of desiccated sod.

It is no wonder sections never grew green and soft.

They were laid on stony soil where roots could only shrivel.


I suppose now, after coarsely cursing the fool sod layer who owned this yard before me (I know, I know, I am the fool who bought it ), stupidly kicking at the rocks, and finally letting go of the aggravation, I will take my time,  clear out the area stone by brick, refresh and level the dirt, and plant some flowers to soothe the savage beast (music would agitate the neighbors).   There is time.  If ancient New England farmers could successfully clear acres and acres of land of enough rocks to build miles and miles of walls, I can surely clean up this mess, and live to enjoy it later.

04/13/2023  rJoHerman

NaPoWriMo   Day 13

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