A Callous Hoe

The first fifteen minutes hoeing I spend thinking about what to write. The next fifteen is spent trying to remember the first fifteen. My brain stops thinking after a half hour.

I'm developing callouses on my hands. I had some, but these ones are getting mondo. When I finished, I stretched my clenched hands, and could feel the skin at the base of my middle finger tearing.

At one point, a glob of mud dislodged by my hoeing, slowly rolled down the ridge towards my feet. It made me jump before I realized what it was. I thought, maybe this is my end. Death by a mud covered Sonic.