On a walk this morning Piper and I saw a worm.  Water puddled on the sidewalk from the rain and the worm was slowly making its way across. We watched.

“Where’s it going, Mom?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe to the other side?” I said.

“Why? What’s on the other side?” Piper asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe the worm doesn’t either.”

We both stared as the worm inched its front forward and dragged its back to catch up. Repeat. Then it wiggled its front out until it dipped back to the pavement and began inching again. Repeat.

“What happens when it gets to the other side?” Piper asked.

“It probably goes into the dirt then. It’s dangerous to be out on the sidewalk.”

“Because of the birds? And us?”

“Yep,” I said. “In the dirt it’s safer.”

Piper sat down on the concrete and inched her way closer to the worm. She  held her hand above the worm, almost touching it. She put her face to the pavement and squinted at the worm, assessing its progress.

“I’m glad I’m a Piper instead.”