Today we raked. The fallen maple leaves from last autumn, and the previous year underneath like a slick black shingle.
I raked right through a fat earthworm the girth of my baby-finger. Cut it in two with the grill of the rake. A worm can still live when cut in half, right? I seem to recall that from Grade 2 when earthworms were more plentiful, or more under discussion, or maybe I was just closer to the ground back then.
I flung the earthworm-half back toward the woodpile and wished it well. But it was still lying there, numb and unmoving when I came back for another load of leaves.
At the top of the driveway, Suze tackled the green-bin that had been tucked behind the fence all winter. Its handle is broken so I’d left it out for garbage pick-up last fall but the garbage men had ignored it. Next time, I’ll leave a note.
The green-bin was half-full of water when Suze tipped it on its side. A gush of water escaped along with a putrid smell. Five lumps of black plastic-wrapped dog shit tumbled out. Suze shrieked, jumped away, and retched into the bushes.
The green-bin is still on its side at the end of the driveway, and the dog shit. Maybe I’ll buy some kitty litter to dump on it, dry it up before I shovel it into a garbage bag. If it ever stops raining.
Suze has taken it personally. A dog walker’s laziness is like a slap in her face with a small black poo bag. I’m more like the worm. Stunned by the world’s indifference. Willing my own heart to beat again. Hoping to grow more limbs for escape.
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