 The ground was still soft from yesterday’s rainfall. The knees of John’s overalls were comfortably soaked, and another layer of soil slowly seeped into the fabric. He plunged a strong bundle of stiff fingers into the dirt then slowly twisted and lifted, leaving a perfectly sized, perfectly deep little hole. The newly open mouth was begging to be fed. John snagged a tiny seed from the sack on his hip and flipped it in. With a light slide of his hand the mouth was closed again.
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