In the garden, I meditate, motionless. Birds, ignoring me, flit to the feeder.
A fat earthworm scrunches and telescopes across the flagstones into the sunlight, toward the feeder. Seeking food? Do earthworms eat what birds spill?
Never mind. Robins eat earthworms. One pounces, plucks.
Pity. I might have gone fishing.
Retired after four decades’ prizewinning print and broadcast journalism in Hartford CT, Don Noel received an MFA in Creative Writing from Fairfield University in 2013 and has since published more than two dozen short stories and non-fiction pieces, with two novellas and a novel still looking for publishers. See more at dononoel.com
We sit amid butterflies and impeccably tended grass each day.
“Tea?” I pour from the cool pitcher on the tray.
She nods, demure. “Two sugars,” she says. “Why haven’t we met before?” She looks up under her lashes. The nurse behind us clucks in sympathy.
“Just bad timing, I guess.”
Delancey Stewart is a fiction writer living in Southern Maryland. When no indulging her imagination, she works for the man as a tech writer and tends two small boys who, her husband assures her, are hers. Find her at delanceystewart.wordpress.com.
My son told me his purple stuffed worm was alive. “I caught it sneaking out last night.”
“Where was it going?” I asked.
“To eat some tomatoes.”
I laughed, kissed him goodnight, and took my flashlight out to the garden.
Sure enough, I caught that sneaky tomato thief around midnight.
This story was based on a title suggested by @TheMoatman.