der Regenwurm

"What's that? Oh!"

That little girl, the one who is sharp as a tack, had stopped in her tracks and was interested in something lying on the pavement. I looked down by her feet. "What was that, you mean."

She looked up at me with sad eyes. Sad shining eyes.

"Schätzje, it is just a rainworm."

I got a look, the one that children give adults at times like this. And then silence.

I cleared my throat. "Do you want to bury it in the yard?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because it's too late. Even if we put it in the earth now, it won't come to life again."

"Well, let's put it in the grass and then at least a Robin can find it for lunch."

Great sobs burst forth. I pulled her into a hug and noted with consternation that my adult heart had hardened somewhere along the line. Squiggles was in a wretched state, but we carefully lifted him over the curb into the grass.

"There. That's better. Now let's go inside and draw pictures of happy worms."

She gave my hand a little squeeze and we walked towards home to create some earthy art.