Loud worms

It's quiet here. Not too quiet. The lurking trenchcoat detective in the shadows would soon pick up suspicious sounds.

Soft sounds, but still, not the silence I expected having read Peter Spier's Gobble, Growl, Grunt to children for a quarter century. On the next to last page of that beloved picture book, the quiet animals get their moment in the spotlight. Rabbits, worms, goldfish, salamanders, and mute swans are noted with a old-timey librarian's "SHHHHHH."

This week my condo holds loud worms and a bagpipe bunny. There are so many worms in my ten-gallon Rubbermaid vermicompost bin that I can hear them wiggling through the dirt when I pop the top. Like Horton hearing the Who, I hear little red wigglers singing karaoke Paul Simon:

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

The condo is calm on this rare rainy day. The rabbit is making funny muffled squeezy sounds. Yes, the preschool class rabbit is vacationing at my combination scenic serenity spa and elderbunny hostel. [Don't alert the paparazzi!] Norton is the celebrity featured facilitator. Last night adoring autograph-seekers and fabulously gorgeous twenty-something women petted him late into the night. Denying the way of the flesh, he keynoted a contemplative workshop this morning. When he eats his fresh basil, celery hearts, cilantro, and fresh plums, Rinpoche Norton makes satisfied audible ommms and hummmms.

With two long ears to the dirt, life is good.

© 2008 Nancy L. Ruder

1 comment:

Martha/All the Dirt said...

Holy cow!
You can hear your compost worms?

I can certainly see that ours are eating their way through everything we have provided for food.

But hear them? Tomorrow I'm checking on that.


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