Her eyes search for a clue in the black fabric. Something she missed today, guiding the shovel
towards the empty soil. A tiny hint that will steady the ship of unhappy investors. But the night is
firm, keeping together the unknown and offering nothing except the cold, waiting for the fire in the
stove to die. Not a single whisper comes from the tight grip of darkness. Hope remains the size of
the cup of tea she holds in her hands. The scent of mist fills the shack made to store tools more than
as a place to sleep. But she prefers this way, her way. The best time to begin is after the dew as it
softens the ground, allowing the shovel to cut through the rich soil. The sun will rise soon. Her left
Mantas Stockus is a Malta-based Lithuanian. He has MA in Modern-and-Contemporary Literature and Criticism and is particularly interested in thought-provoking writing and poetry. His writing has appeared in various print and digital publications.