A funeral to start 2023

Today I dug a grave.

With cold sweat on my forehead, I carefully shoveled the earth that bathed under the illuminating light cast by the moon. At 3 a.m. one would expect a soft, moist dirt especially after light rain showers from yesterday.

The dirt, as if it has its own feeling and consciousness, listened to my mutterings not to give me a hard time getting this done, or else the callouses on my hand might start to form their own callouses.

“Callouses on callouses,” I thought to myself. “It is definitely a tragedy.”

The grave I dug had no particular size. I was not even sure of the size of the casket. I would normally be specific on the dimensions, but I completely missed the details this time. All I knew was it had to be deep enough. Deep enough so that nobody would ever notice that on that same spot, lies a representation of death itself. And with only a shovel as my partner, one could only imagine how long it would take to hollow out the ground 6 feet under.

As I swung the tired shovel back and forth, scooping out the dirt below and filling the earth above…

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