The Gravedigger

I was no philosopher and not the master digger. I took no pride and did not understand the job I did. Old Craig, the lazy digger, gave advice and laid it out. And Hubert, the artist of the crew, would take a sharpened spade to even up the sides and make them true. Howard and I, or brawn and useless intellect, would throw the slack from out the hole and cut a little deeper down till we were told to stop. I did not understand the fuss and careful contemplation of the pit, not as long as the coffin fit. But I was just eighteen, too young to realize that this was art, the final mark a man would cause upon the earth, the ditch unlike the others that would be re-dug and altered by the years and whims of other workers. No, this was permanent work for pay, the likes of which is hard to find today.