Futility

     I was outside a few hours ago, trying to find a place to plant zinnia seeds.  I so looked forward to doing this all through the long drawn-out spring, when I bought the colorful packets of seeds.  But now that the time is right, the ground is hard and dry as a bone, and there are immovable rocks in my way.  I sense that my efforts will be less than stellar, but am still hopeful--maybe tomorrow---if it doesn't rain.  I come inside, and feel a pinching on the inside of my arm; a tick is trying to burrow its way in, has gotten maybe 1/4 of the way.  It's on the inside of my right arm, so I need help to tweeze it out.