A Helping Hand

It is Saturday morning. It is cold and wet outside.

The house is still...very still...

Such a luxury when you have small, tyrannical children. Dan took them all away from the house - they went to soccer practice.

I go outside to smoke a cigarette.

Sitting on my kitchen stoop I see an earth worm slugging along . Chug...chug...chug...little by little... I am fascinated by the rythmic movement of his muscles working to move his body along the concrete stoop.

How can this little body with its thin fragile skin move across the courseness of the concrete without tearing itself to bits.

He appears to have some destination in mind. Hmmm. I think he is trying to find earth...trying to make his way home. I watch him as I inhale slowly, deeply....It's yucky out here...cold and damp...I'm cold...He looks cold. I know. He doesn't feel the cold. He's fine.

Chug...chug...chug...

I notice he has a little pebble stuck to his body. That looks uncomfortable. That would bother me. It doesn't bother him. Chug...chug...chug...does not deter him from his goal. He is making excellent progress. He is heading in the right direction...toward the edge of the concrete where the ground starts...and home begins.

Suddenly he stops...starts to roll...curling and uncurling until the pebble falls away from his body. He straights himself up and continues on his way. I guess it did bother him.

Again, he stops...arches his head up and looks around. It is as if he senses he has lost his way. Indeed he is now pointed in the wrong direction. He let that pebble distract him from his goal. He takes a moment to reorient himself...

He spies a small clump of dirt nearby and points himself toward it. Chug...chug...chug... When his nose hits the clump he cringes. This is not where he wanted to be.

He looks up again, sees something big and dark lurking just off to the left. He redirects his aim toward it. Chug...chug...chug...

My cigarette is almost gone.

He's going the wrong way.

Should I help him out?

Maybe just a little bit.

Like guidance from the heavens, my hand comes out of the sky and rests barely beside his head. That is not the earth. It is a garbage bag. Go this way. He curls up and stays very still for a bit. Resistance. I take my hand away. When he feels as if I am gone he uncurls and goes back to his goal.

Chug...chug...chug... slugging toward the garbage bag.

He stops.

Looks around as if again unsure that he is going the right way. He looks confused. Head arches up, turns left...turns right...big, dark thing...left...right...left...

So the heavens open up again and down comes the hand...this time with more insistance that he trust. I hold my finger in place, next to his head. You've lost your way and I'm here to help you find it again. Don't be stubborn...Trust me...relax and open yourself up. He is panicing, floundering...

Finally, he relaxes...straigtens himself up and heads for the earth.

My cigarette is finished. I hope he makes it home.