The 6-foot trench has been filled in. The excavator has moved the dirt, but the contours of the garden and yard have been changed. The flower bed, the strip of lawn, and the edging of shrubs just don't look like they used to.
It's another form of impermanence, sort of like someone who's had a major operation. Afterward, they feel worse, at first, and maybe their loved ones feel they are just a little bit different somehow. Perhaps the anesthesia has induced a shred of mental confusion. How did things used to be?
Life and the garden shifts slowly, sometimes subtly, over time, as they organically evolve. But this re-contouring is a big change from one day to the next. And it's not the way i want it; it's the way it happened.
Another lesson in impermanence, the stress of wanting things to be different than they are, and the emptiness of the word "garden," which meant one thing yesterday and a different thing today.