Sand

Leaves in various states of decay had accumulated on the surface. I brushed them away and thrust the shovel into the brown earth between the daylilies. They had bloomed once, in their youth, but they had long since exhausted the nutrients in the soil. Shallowly rooted, they relinquished their lives with little resistance.

Beneath the lilies was sand, gray and dry with a gloss of quartz. The spade sliced easily through the soil. Loose sand slid from the spade back into the hole, where it was shoveled out once again.

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Deep in the sand were objects lost long ago -- four orange bricks, two large chunks of soft stone, and thin pieces of fencing, perfectly preserved. Digging deeper, the shovel struck clay, compressed and compacted, a primordial slab.

The tool slammed into the clay, like steel to bone. A few shards chipped off, but the core did not yield the shadows buried there.

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