Oddly enough, the high point of my day is saving an earthworm from death by exhaustion. I see him crawling around on the sidewalk by the engineering building.
"Hey, wormie, what are you doing on the concrete? That's no good for you. Let me get you off there."
I squat down on the sidewalk beside where he wriggles parallel to the edge in a direction that will never get him to anything green. Casting about for a twig to slip under him and lift him to the edge, I continue to talk to the worm. Out loud. (It's a good thing no one's around.) The lawn is too well kept so I must make do with a scrap of oak leaf. I sort of scrape him over to the grass. I'm a little concerned that the scraping will hurt him, but I figure he's a worm and won't notice even if he gets broken in half. My worries are not necessary; as soon as I get him to the edge of the sidewalk he enthusiastically dives headfirst into the dirt.
180 words | April 2, 2004 09:36 PM | Real true story