Change is the only constant

As I sit on my porch, enjoying the little amount of alone time I get, I look out at my yard. There are two shovels jutting out of a mound from a half dug trench. The rusty lines of an archaic sprinkler system lie, exposed, taking a 90 degree turn before disappearing into the dirt again. The orange spray paint has all but faded from where I mapped out our future grass patch. I have to finish digging before Jon goes back to work in as little as a week. Ugh.