Midweek, Poem, Scenic, Short story

Of birds and worms.

You know my boy, a worm’s life is filled with terrors. Avoiding the light which will dry it out and make it visible to all things that would eat it, living in the moist shadows underground, still fearful of moles and the like.

Look over there, you see that one wriggling about?

Dropped by a bird he’s been. One I’ll wager will swoop down to reclaim its quarry and finish the job it started.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you can intervene. And shoo that bird away before his beak makes short work of soft worm flesh.

Now, I have the worm, and the bird has lost his dinner. For now, the worm might feel safe, warm in the shadows of my closed hands.

I of course won’t eat the poor bugger, but a worm’s life is filled with terrors, and we’d best be on our way to fishing now the bait is living.

A prompt response.


5 thoughts on “Of birds and worms.”

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