Breaking new ground is the hardest thing to do. You’d resolved to simply dig a hole. Easy-peasy. A small incision on your patch to bless with the tree you’d reared for four years in a pot. Winter is coming and deciduous trees like a little sleep before summer thumps again. You find soil in years of solitude is unwilling to be examined. Roots collide with everything subterranean.
With each strike comes the clean, primitively-binding smell of dirt. Trillions of aerosoled soil-borne bacteria and fungi, freshly ground, filling your airways. You remember reading recently about the human microbiome and that you are an extension of the soil. You are in effect a walking #garden. Succulent worms scatter riding the fibrous networks impossible for you or I to pursue. The mattock makes clumsy work of worms and roots. They are limber and filled with that elastic resilience nature makes a living from. You are out of economy, out of breath, fly-blown and the hole? It is but a smirk on the landscape.