With a heavy thud, metal scrapes soil, breaking, exposing, lifting, turning, shaking loose to repeat again. Weathered hands stoop low invading the wound, scraping, turning, prying out the stones. Light streams into broken ground warmth pervades cold damp soil. Gentle hands invade again, poking, digging, planting seeds. Water drenches chilling floods of nourishment. Darkness decends, the protective cover of soil. Dormant dreams must lie in wait.