the wormdiggers.

the wormdiggers only ever came out at night. we'd watch them from the family room window in the summer after the sun went down. the silouettes outside would be as dark as black acrylic paint, the trees and outlines of the barn, the swing set, the tractors. the sky behind these familiar objects would be a deep blue with scattered stars that you could actually see because there weren't a ton of lights around. it was strange looking out at a landscape that was so familiar to us during the day, the pond surrounded by green reeds that we once stumbled across a turtle's egg in, the dried mud paths we'd run on and the great mass of dirty hay beside the barn we played around in. but at night when we were kept inside we'd stare out from behind the panes of glass, so cold when you put your face close up to them and smelling vaguely of paint. and we'd squint our eyes and wait for the wormdiggers.
and finally they came in the quiet night and crawled in the fields across the road that belonged to julia's dad. they'd crouch over the newly plowed earth and tiny crops sprouting between the soil, their hands ever working the earth searching for worms. they wore lights strapped to their heads so they could see the earth which they dug through. our space had become theirs and we were confined to the yellow lighted den, faces pressed to the freezing windows to catch glimpses of the wormdiggers. i always imagined that they would look like some sort of mole person, with quivering whiskers and clammy pink hands. but i could never see them in the light so i never got to find out. later after we bored of them we would stare at the television, taking the time to check on the wormdiggers every now and then. and then they'd be gone, vanished from the earth and i'd always feel so disappointed that they'd gone.