On the Life and Death of a Stranded Earthworm

Happened upon an earthworm just now. He wasn't moving until I kicked
him, at which point he wiggled about on the cement path. I decided
the wormane [sic] thing to do was to help him into the nearby forest
that was but shrubbery to me. The implications of this action were
twofold: to prevent its death and to help it along its way.

Upon more reflection than most would deem required or necessary, I
wondered these things: was I really saving him from impending doom;
perhaps he was sunbathing, working on his tan lines; or maybe, just
maybe he committing ritual suicide as he had outlived his usefulness
to earthworm society.

I have half a mind to return to his drop-off location to observe the
outcome of my actions. It may yet be there, it may be plucked off by a
wild bird or it may have squirmed its way back into the underground
collective.

The suspense is killing me…!

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