By Don Tassone
The man raised his hoe high in the air and brought it down, striking the thick, encrusted soil with all his might.
He grimaced and moaned as a pain shot through his arms and into his shoulders and back.
But an even deeper pain tore at his heart. She had forgiven him years ago. But he still bore the guilt of his offense. He could not let it go.
And so he raised the hoe and struck the earth, again and again, day after day, remembering and regretting, pleading and resolving, until his work was done and the land was clear.
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