“Night crawler?” Calliope scrunched up her face.
“It was the first word — words? — that jumped up at me when I looked at page… err… page 798 in Webster’s. You got a problem with night crawlers Cal?” Thalia closed the dictionary.
“Not a problem… I just don’t know what we can say about worms is all.”
Urania dried a fistful of paint brushes with a paper towel. “Fiction then?”
Sam grabbed his flashlight and headed out under the shine of a full moon. A streak of dry June days meant he’d need to carry a shovel to the garden along with an ice cream bucket half-filled with loose dirt and shredded bits of newspaper. The bait he needed for tomorrow’s trip to the lake would be down below the surface.
It took only a few jabs and turns with his spade for Sam to find, pluck, and fill his bucket with enough wigglers to catch a cooler full of bluegill. Sam felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose when getting his hands into the dirt. The whir of line and lure cast into dock-shaded-shallows gave him an opportunity to set aside facts and figures — to become one with nature.
Sam attached lid to pail, then loaded the bed of his truck with tackle and fishing rods — closed-bale-reels for the inexperienced, and open-bale for those who were ready for the next level.
He climbed the stairs and settled down for a good rest. The kids from the center would keep him hopping and hoping in pursuit of a bountiful morning catch.
Sending gratitude to Timmy R. and The Fearless Songwriter’s Challenge for my recent infatuation with object based prompts. :)
Your stories often prompt memories from long ago. No exception today. After a rainy summer day, my brother and I would arm ourselves with bucket and flashlight to harvest night crawlers from Miss Kirby’s lawn. It’s rich, dark soil harbored seemingly countless worms, engendering eager anticipation for the next day’s fishing adventure. Perch, sunfish, and the occasional catfish. Mostly catch and release. Always great fun! Thanks for the jog!