She’d shifted a cottage-weight of stone, lifted uncounted shovelfuls of soil, dug her way with mattock and sweat and bruised fingers. Before her, beneath her, all she had was a hole. The same as when she’d lifted that first shovel load, the same as she’d have after countless more.

The Irrigation Ditch
Shards (anthology)
Published 01-Oct-2018

About the story: Names have power. When does a hole turn into a ditch?

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