The door is thrust open and scampering footsteps bound closer and louder until they arrive at my side. “Mommy, can you blog about this??”
My 7.5 year old daughter precedes to tell me the story of her kindness towards a worm that her and her brother found struggling for life in the middle of our driveway after a rainstorm. His home, mere feet for you and I, but at least a day’s journey for his small, frail, withering body.
And a dangerous journey it would be. One fraught with hungry spring birds and other animals looking for a morning snack. And as the sun begins to spill over the peak of the house and cast its deadly rays onto the blacktop, I can imagine the horrified screams as the line between light and dark creeps little by little towards him, and his certain, crispy death. He stands no chance.
But he has my daughter. His hero. His champion. My animal loving daughter who wears her heart on her sleeve for all living things. She gingerly places him in her petite little hand (with no hesitation, despite going through a short phase where she didn’t want to touch them anymore) and offers him a short respite in a nearby puddle. He immediately finds relief as he begins to wriggle around to show his gratitude. After a moment, she returns him to her tender palm and gently walks him to a dirt filled area to set him free. He takes a moment, perhaps so say thank you, but then squirms his way across the earth and buries his head into the soil. I can only guess his state of bliss and extreme relief as he returns to his home.
And my daughter is responsible for it all. She gave that little worm his life back. She can’t save them all, but she will always try. Keep saving those worms little one.