The ground was wet when I went for a walk at six this morning.
It rained last night.
I saw an earthworm on the edge of the driveway. The worm was moving in the direction of the road. The flower bed the worm came from was behind the worm. Was the worm going to visit relatives across the street? Was the worm out all night partying? Did the worm get lost and couldn’t find its way home? The skin on the earthworm was starting to dry out. I picked up the worm and put it back in the flowerbed.
The worm doesn’t have eyes. The worm doesn’t have ears. The worm doesn’t have teeth. The worm doesn’t have lungs. The worm breathes through its skin. If the worm dries out it will suffocate.
The worm has five hearts. I have one heart.
I kept thinking about the worm during the day as I ate my breakfast. I thought about the worm as I washed the breakfast dishes. I thought about the worm as I taught math, and science and language arts. I thought about the worm as I was getting ready for bed.
I don’t really know why I kept thinking about the worm. Is there any deep meaning in putting a worm back in the dirt? I don’t know if it matters to anyone one else that I put the worm back in the dirt.
But I do know one thing for sure. It mattered to the worm.
