Work is penance. Penance, to repent. This is hard work, hard penance for a lost soul like me. You dig so far into the muddy bank and the hole fills with water. Stick your shovel back in and there’s less and less mud until finally you’re digging water.

I tucked the limbs in, rolled the canvas sheet up real nice and tied the ends so nothing much soaked through, nothing a little bleach and hot water won’t get off the boards after I get rid of that rug. Took the roll and put it in back of my old truck, took the truck to the bridge near the county line.

I was going to weight it and throw it in the river, but the river’s been low of late, and I could imagine it coming back up and gliding down the river like little Moses and ending up in the reeds. Then I saw where the river was pulled away from the banks, black bottom mud, there, and thought: I’ve got a shovel, I could bury it there and the river will come and cover it someday, cold and dark.

It’s hard work, but hard work’s good for a lost soul like me.