What Lies Beneath

Several years ago, we had the barn that was attached to the north end of our house torn down and replaced by a more usable structure.  For the entire summer there was a trench along the east side of our house, rimmed by a mound of dirt.

After the first serious rain the newly dug trench and ridges were dotted with chunks of pottery that had been cast aside by former owners of our house.  And not just pottery, but glass shards, handwrought ironware, and even a few animal bones found their way to the top of the dirt after decades of lying undisturbed below. 

Recently I’ve been feeling like I’m back in the trench discovering bits and pieces of lives lived decades ago.  But my current trench can’t be found around the foundation of the house.  Rather, it’s inside my head and heart.
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