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Digging Holes in the Earth By - Ryan D. Pourchot           Throughout each year, each day, each continual measure in life. Moments in time, hung by the spoke - of a passing wheel of seasons. If it be rain, snow, or shine. If it be the lush green shoots, birthed in April's newly welcomed warmth. The fiery -July air - enveloping the land with its mirage.  When the trees begin to hush, and fall asleep to the crisp October breeze. To the deathly stillness, and the mysterious December days of cold - frost bitten arms of age, eyes of emptiness. The passing of life's measure, a newly struck note – bled upon the pages of a legend laden dream.