Holes

I like holes. Once upon a youthful time, when I was about 12 years old or so, I started digging a hole in the woods. I don’t recall the exact reason I began digging it. I do remember the smooth shisssh sound and the textured vibration of the shovel handle as the spade pierced the soil and red clay. It was mostly red clay. I was too young to understand zen, but I did know that with each small pile… Read More »

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