The grass's smell-- fresh, nights warmth will cling.
Listen'n to crickets through the hot air they'd sing.
Stars peaking from blackness beneath a low lit sky.
Half moon, dangling, through the trees so high.
Smells of fresh rain still cling'n in the air.
Cousin and I, well, we made a hard working pair.
There we were smack dab bout midnight.
Hunt'n them night crawlers left and right,
for Uncle's morrow's fish'n excursions.
While cousin grabs'm all up by the dozens.
Pinch'n in tween her fingers like a vice-snare.
Never seen so many fat worms, yep, I swear.
I dare not touch'm, that icky, earth worm jam.
A good flash light holder, that I surely am.
Neath the wet lawn they hid so tight,
wrapped round the roots that night.
Oh, but the night it went by to soon, as
we hunted'm neath the dim silver half moon.
Me a flash light pro, in the night-- I'd scan.
We had that night, a real good worm hunt'n plan,
a hunt'n them worms as fast as we could.
There in the night on the lawn, we both stood.
That old cottage container was stuffed to the brim,
of some big fat earth worms, an all their skinny kin.
Well twas a night to remember, of way back when.
Just me and my cousin, gathering them worms,
work'n harder than old fishermen.
Linda Bates Terrell
Written © July 8, 2013