Silver/Lead by Sarah Jones - Lost Rocks (04)

I am digging a hole. I had thought that the hole would be around a metre deep, but already, at thirty centimetres, the ground is harder than I’d planned. I had planned (plans for the Earth?) that the Earth would submit to this unannounced displacement. Looking into the poor excuse that is the beginnings of my hole, I consider that the earth might have had other plans. The soft burn of frustration at dirt that will not heed my effort is rising in my cheeks. Two types of scarlet exertion flush my face. I’m probably also sunburnt; three. I stop digging. Hot from the inside and the outside, I throw the shovel down, the short unsatisfying thud it makes does nothing for what feels like an inherent specie-al inferiority. The dirt is too hard, the sun is too hot, I have no impact of the scale that …