[personal] Walking the worm carpet

It rained all night here in Omaha. So naturally I went for a long walk this morning, around 3 am. My feet got very wet on the Big Papio Trail, which rather mysteriously dead ends in a small meadow near the intersection of Maple and 120th, necessitating an extensive detour through squishy ankle-deep grass and mudholes.

The odd thing was the worms. They were out on the trail in regiments, veritable invasions of annelids. After I while, I stopped trying to avoid stepping on them, because that wouldn’t have been humanly possible unless my feet were about the size of the base of a bowling pin. Most of them seemed to be torpid, or already drowned, but some were having enthusiastic worm sex. I guess nothing says “orgy” like rising flood waters in your tunnel home. A few were huge, eight, nine inches or more, and big around as my pinkie. They weren’t screwing, but rather, moving with a purpose across the glistening concrete and the scattered bodies of their smaller similars.

Almost two hours after I set out I was back to the hotel with my thoughts in hand. There I showered, and worked on Tourbillon for an hour, but I have not been able to get the image of walking the worm carpet out of my mind. Slippery when wet, rolling slick, pink-to-gray in the scattered shadows of distant streetlights, they live in the Midwestern soil only to come out in orgiastic drownings.