Once, driven by curiosity, Walter decided to investigate the mysterious mound. Armed with a shovel and optimism, he dug down several feet, expecting at least a root cluster or buried junk. But the soil revealed nothing except ordinary earth. There was no explanation, secret, or anything else.
Marie watched from the porch, amused as Walter wiped sweat from his forehead and shrugged. “Just a stubborn stump from some chopped-off tree,” he declared, filling the hole back in. They laughed about it over lemonade, treating the mound as a harmless eccentricity of their new home.