The Boy and The Worm

Many years ago, I was awakened by a small voice,

"You've fallen into a well," it said.

As I was lying in a hole, feeling especially uncomfortable, this was a welcomed detail.

I adjusted my eyes to see who was speaking. And in the darkness, I began to see the contour of an earthworm jutting its head out of the wall of
soil just in front of me.

"Well, since we're both down here, we should go on and share some things with each other, don't you agree?" pondered the worm. "Come now,

close your eyes and follow me."

"But how?" I asked. Seeds of tears burned in my breast. I could scarcely move my fingers that laid heavily on watery stones.

"With the eye of your imagination," he answered.

I closed my eyes.

The moment he began his story, I was no longer aware of my discomfort.

Curiously, I found myself walking down a lush, sunlit trail in the countryside, the nimble worm at my side. Crow couples sat in the trees above us and there were wild irises in bloom.

"Come along," the worm said.

We wandered into a family's garden where butterhead lettuces were rounding out and asparagus were beginning to spear the spring air. The worm led me to a limestone box that held carrot peels, egg shells, tea leaves, onion skins, lemon rinds and other indistinguishable tidbits. I asked him what it did.

"This is a compost pile," he said, and he jumped straight into it, head first, and disappeared. He then enthusiastically popped out again.

"Take hold of my neck!" He urged.

I gripped his ringed neck and he pulled me down into the pile of organic scraps.

Intriguingly, we found ourselves in a clearing with a packed dirt floor, seated comfortably on springy portobella mushrooms. I could feel my cheeks flushing from the humid heat and we were surrounded by a tremedous noise. There were ants, fungii, slugs, caterpillers, rhizomes, bacteria, moles, mice, and tiny winged insects hard at work all around us. They seemed to be transforming chunks of vegetable matter into a most luxuriant dirt. An odor of moss infused the place.

"These beings don't even notice we are here, they are so engrossed in their work," the worm announced.

"Why is everyone working so hard?" I wondered

"I tell you," he shouted, "they love transforming the complex into the simple and useful. The family understands this and they put their scraps into the compost pile, so these beings so ready to work have something to do,"

"And what is the result?" I prayed.

"The result is rich, fertile matter that the man of the house mixes with the soil of his garden. The roots of his seedlings easily absorb and assimilate the available elements thanks to the man's efforts and all of these tireless workers around us. The nature spirits then gladly do their part and the seedlings grow very fast," he said.

"What happens when the seedlings grow?" asked I.

"Well, they became mature plants," he explained, "and mature plants have much to give when a man participates creatively with his garden. Flowers, pollen, stamens, seeds, leaves, stalks, stems, branches, fruits, roots, or entire organisms are there for the taking."

I listened, imagining nature's variety starting with all the din and fertile dankness around me.

"All of the elements in the soil, absorbed by the roots, become the plant," he continued, "then become the person who eats them, then become the earth again, in a most effective rhythm. And these elements are the same ones that make up the planets and stars and are the same ones that even you and I are made of!"

"But we don't look alike! I'm a boy and you're a worm!" I exclaimed.

"Well a lot depends on the arrangement of these elements," he replied.

He again urged me to grasp his neck. "Come, take hold of me. I want to show you something else," he said.

We flew out of the warmth and into the sunlight, on top of a crumbly brick wall. The worm pointed with his nose to a field of wide-eyed sunflowers down below.

He told me not to be alarmed, but that he was going to speed up time in order for me to see something, and to keep my eyes on the sunflowers.

The still, dusky bottomed clouds suddenly began barreling overhead. The swallows in flight were but flashes across the sky and the heads of all the sunflowers followed the sun in unison like spectators in a crowd.

The sun slipped from view leaving rosewater and honey clouds behind.

"I didn't know flowers could turn their heads!" I proclaimed.

"Yes," said the worm, "they feel love coming from the sun and they give it their full attention. The sun is such goodness! Sylphs, and seraphim ride on sunbeams to earth."

It was all fascinating to me. I felt that I understood.

Then he encouraged me to yet again take hold of him, "We're going to take flight again. Clench me tight this time."

I held onto his smooth body and we flew for a good while across periwinkle skies until I could see the coast of the deep and dark Atlantic below. We then began our descent, feeling balmy from the charged salty air.

Touching down on the receptive sand, the worm asked me to remove my shoes. The crystal tide came in on crowns of foam that lapped my toes.

"You and I are largely made up of water, just like the Earth," he said.

Then he told me to listen, to come and tiptoe into the water with him a little deeper and put my ear to the water.

We waded out to where the sand was soppy and molten between my toes, and we put our ears on the surface. I heard high-pitched squeeling.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Whales' voices," he returned. "The sound vibrations from one whale travel through the ocean and are picked up by another."

"And what are they saying?" I begged.

"Something about happiness," said he.

I tried in vain to hold my ear steadily on the water's surface. The waves came and went, washing over my head and the brine burned my nose.

"Why won't the water just stay still?" I asked.

"Ask the Moon," he replied, Look!"

I lifted my head to the sky and saw the pumice stone moon waxing above.

Then, I yawned and the worm remarked that I must be getting tired.

"Come, let's dry off," he said.

I sleepily dried off with some tawny sea sponges and dipped into sleep on a bed of beached sea vegetables.

And I was again awakened by that small voice,

"You're still in a well. Oh, but someone is calling out to you!" it said.

It was then that I heard the prismed voice of my father, echoing down the well shaft. I gave forth a dry squeek and could feel my stiff body begin to heal in his arms and in the sunlight.

He held me and asked me if I was hurt and why I had wandered away and how I had fallen.

"And where are your shoes?" he asked, concernedly.

But I explained to him that I was not hurt.

"There was an earthworm down there, Father, who took great care of me," I said, "who showed me the earth, who showed me the sun and moon, who showed me water and sunsets and light and sound."



Daniel Sutter illustration