Worming Your Way Along

After it rains, the sidewalks and parking lots are littered with the bodies of hundreds of drowned earthworms - long and skinny, fat and short, cut in half, mushed - all of them popped out of the parched earth to escape their toxic environment and to drink deeply of the cooling water. Alas! They become stranded by the hard asphalt and cannot return to the safety of the soft earth.

Today I made my way across campus, tiptoeing gingerly around the dead carcasses, amazed at how many died in the recent deluge. People around me seemed oblivious, their flipflops schlapping the black walkways with careless abandon.

Here and there, a lone worm still wriggled, trying desperately to escape. Millimeter by millimeter they scootched their way slowing, agonizingly, toward the brilliant green grass. You could almost hear them gasping from the heat of the scorching sun.

It was a hopeless cause. I cannot assist all the little wrigglers who need help. It would take more years than I have to give. And most of the wrigglers look too far spent to survive even with help. It would take several armies to work through campus. Just keep walking. Never mind their plight.

And yet.

And yet I feel so helpless. I know the value of a good earthworm. I care nothing for species self regulation through genocide. I see one stalwart fellow too too far from the green, striving to move around a stick. Yes, I will help him. I gently lift him over the twig and place him in the green grass.

I stoop down to see what will happen. At first, he just lay there, not moving. Then slowly, imperceptibly, one end began to burrow down into the rich brown dirt. I hovered over the spot for awhile, until I had to leave. He was more than half way disappeared when I departed.

I wish him and all his kindred well.