Poetic Earth

Dominic watched the first light begin to thread its way through the dark clouds outside his bedroom window. Morning was coming. He lay still, waiting for his dad to wake up. He knew better than to be awake before his elders.They were visiting Paw Paw out on his wooded twenty acres in Tennessee, and Dominic’s favorite part of the trip—besides fishing in the pond—was the worms.

Paw Paw had a worm farm. A real one. And every summer, Dominic got to be part of the business. He’d ride all the way from Austin, Texas to Paris, Tennessee just to spend a slice of his summer in the quiet life. And he loved it. Sure, Texas had its own kind of country, but back home they lived in the city. Paris was different. Slower. Still. There was something about sitting out on the back porch after a day spent digging in the dirt and running wild through the woods. Something about the way your skin felt sun-warmed and your clothes held the scent of earth and grass and sweat. Dominic loved to carry that smell with him all day. Like a secret badge of summer. He heard the soft thunk of a cabinet door closing and knew—his dad was up, already rifling through the cereal. That was Dominic’s cue. He hopped out of bed, buzzing with energy.

“Mornin’, Dad,” he said, his voice bright and eager.

“Mornin’, son,” Martin replied, mid-pour as the milk splashed over a mound of cereal.

Just then, heavy boots hit the floor like a slow, steady drumbeat. Paw Paw walked into the kitchen of the double-wide, carrying the morning with him like he always did. His jeans were creased sharp down the middle, a button-up tucked in just right beneath a wide leather belt with a big silver buckle. His hair was slicked back, and his tri-focals sat low on his sun-worn face.

“Hey Martin, meet me down by the farm when you’re done and give me a hand?”

Then, turning to Dominic with a nod and a smile, “Mornin’, Dominic. Meet ya down yonder, boy?” Dominic grinned. “Yes, sir!” “Sure thing, Pops,” Martin called back through a mouthful of cereal.

Dominic scarfed down his own bowl in record time, laced up his sneakers, and burst out the back door into the crisp, green air. Waiting there, like clockwork, was Stiggy—Paw Paw’s black-coated border collie. He trotted up, alert and wagging, then darted ahead, nose to the ground. Stiggy never came inside. He lived out on the land, guarding it like a silent sentinel. Back and forth he’d go, weaving along the invisible fence lines, scouting the edges of the property like it was his sworn duty. He made them all feel safe. And Dominic loved him for it.

They all made their way down the hill toward the big, Quonset hut—sixty feet long, corrugated metal gleaming under the morning sun. Inside, rows upon rows of wooden beds stretched out before them, each one brimming with rich, dark soil—and worms. So many worms.

Dominic could only dream that this was his everyday life. The pace, the peace, the space to just be—it all felt like something out of a memory he didn’t even realize he was clinging to.

He respected his father and grandfather with every core of his being. There was wisdom in their quiet, strength in their silence, and Dominic knew—deep down—that there were endless lessons to be soaked up out on those twenty acres. Lessons that couldn’t be taught in classrooms or learned from screens. Only absorbed through time, sweat, and presence. He had spent countless summers on that land. Attended more family reunions than he could count. And although his own memories blurred with age, the old photos inside the house held the truth. Entire family portraits—dozens of them, all lined up in their Sunday best, captured by professional photographers who probably had no idea they were freezing entire legacies in a single frame. A time Dominic would’ve never known if the pictures weren’t proof. There was a closet still packed with dusty board games, the kind with missing pieces and worn-out lids. All for the cousins. And on the lower shelf, a stack of old VHS tapes—labeled in his grandfather’s careful handwriting—that they used to watch on repeat. Rewind. Play. Rewind again.

Paw Paw crouched beside one of the beds and showed Dominic how to scatter the feed—crushed cornmeal, coffee grounds, and something else he never named. Then, how to gently rake his fingers through the dirt to coax the big ones out, plucking them carefully and placing them in styrofoam containers lined up in stacks. This was Dominic’s favorite part. Sifting through the dirt. Some of those containers would be picked up by local folks; others were dropped off at feed stores, gas stations, and bait shops from Paris to Memphis. It was a quiet business, but it kept going—like the worms themselves, always working beneath the surface.

“Dominic, go ahead and get about fifty containers filled while me and your dad clean out some of the summer toys for the get-together this weekend,” Paw Paw said as he passed behind him, boots crunching over the gravel floor.

“Yes sir,” Dominic replied, grabbing a bundle of containers and setting them beside the nearest worm bed. He dug in, hands deep in the cool soil, letting the worms squirm and slide through his fingers. He let the little ones drop back into the dirt, where they’d keep growing, wiggling their way down into the dark. The big ones—thick, slick, strong—he set aside. One by one. Like treasure hunters panning for gold, Dominic sifted through the soil, his hands moving with the rhythm he’d learned from summers past. It took him about an hour to fill all fifty containers. He wiped the sweat from his brow, dusted his hands off on his pants, and stepped out into the sunlight, squinting.

“All done, Paw Paw! You want me to load ’em up or put ’em aside? Need help out here?” he called out, eager to stay in motion.

Paw Paw looked up from the toy bins and gave him a wide grin. “Good job, son. Put ’em aside—I got a friend swingin’ by to grab ’em later.” 

Then he nodded toward the old porch near the pond. “Now go fetch the fishin’ poles. Let’s see if we can catch ourselves some lunch.” Martin chuckled and dusted off his hands as he helped Paw Paw seal the last storage bin. The yard was already looking ready for the weekend—picnic tables under the trees, buckets of toys and water guns standing by, a volleyball net rolled up just waiting for laughter. Dominic grinned and jogged off toward the porch.

The sun was climbing higher, and the day wasn’t even close to done, but it already felt like they’d lived a full one. Fishing poles in hand, they began their quiet trek down to the pond—Paw Paw’s pond—a stretch of water carved by calloused hands and years of grit. He had made it with nothing more than stubbornness and a back that never quit, back when men still did things just to say they did.

The walk was quiet, save for the crunch of boots on the gravel path and the low hum of summer bugs in the air. A breeze rolled in just enough to stir the leaves, but not enough to cool their necks. Sunlight spilled through the pine tree branches, casting scattered patterns across the tall grass like lacework from the sky.

The pond shimmered in the clearing ahead—wide and still, old as it felt, like it had been waiting just for them. Its surface was glassy, reflecting the high blue sky, save for the slow ripple of a fish below or the landing tap of a dragonfly’s wings. Reeds danced along the banks. Frogs plopped in and out like clockwork, and in the distance, the rusted outline of the old dock came into view—tilted just slightly, the way it always had been. Paw Paw came to a stop near a cluster of stumps used as makeshift seats. 

“Shoot,” he muttered, slapping his pant leg. “Martin, run back and grab the tackle box, would ya? I left it sittin’ on the bench in the shed. Bring some of them lures, won’t cha? I know you ain’t one for worms.” Martin nodded. “You got it. Come on, Dom.”

“I’ll grab the worms,” Dominic offered, already heading back the way they came. Stiggy trotted ahead, zigzagging through the brush, nose low, ears twitching at every sound. The path was familiar, worn in by years of use and barefoot summers. They reached the shed quickly, Martin grabbing the dusty old tackle box and a couple of his favorite lures while Dominic pulled a couple of the containers of worms he’d filled earlier. They headed back, the sun a little higher now, heat licking the tops of their heads.

That’s when Martin saw it. “Hold up.”

Dominic stopped, his sneakers crunching to a halt.

Slithering through the grass ahead, maybe twenty feet out, was a thick, dark water moccasin, its body weaving slowly, deliberately—toward them. Martin instinctively threw an arm in front of Dominic and pushed his son behind him. Dominic fumbled over his feet as he was trying to process everything as it was happening before his eyes. The snake raised its head slightly, tongue flickering. 

Then, from nowhere, a black streak appeared. Stiggy. He lunged between them and the snake, growling low, his body rigid, paws planted firm in the dirt. The snake paused, hissed, then began to sway side to side. But Stiggy didn’t flinch. His stare was locked. His growl deepened. Dominic’s heart was pounding. He didn’t move. The air around them felt thick. Still. As if someone had pressed the fast forward button off and hit the pause button. Instincts were flying through the air and Dominic was trying to figure out what his were directing him to do. He didn’t want Stiggy to get hurt.

And then, without a sound, the snake lowered its head and slid away—disappearing back into the brush as if it had been called off by something invisible. A sense of relief took anxieties. Stiggy stood his ground a moment longer, then turned and trotted back toward them, tail wagging like nothing had happened.

Martin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You okay?” he asked. Dominic nodded slowly, still gripping the worm container. “Yeah. He… He saved us.” Martin looked down at Stiggy, who was already scouting ahead again. “That dog’s got somethin’ in him,” he said under his breath. Dominic didn’t answer. He just looked down the path, toward the pond—where Paw Paw sat waiting with lines untangled and the calmest eyes you’d ever seen.

By the time they made it back to the pond, the sun had warmed the banks, and Paw Paw was still right where they left him—sitting on a stump, chewing on a toothpick, pole propped beside him. Stiggy trotted ahead, tail high, like a soldier returning from the field. Dominic and Martin followed behind, a little slower, still shaken but holding it in.

“Got what I forgot?” Paw Paw asked, not turning around. Martin set the tackle box down with a nod. “Yeah. And uh… we had a run-in.” Paw Paw glanced over his shoulder. Dominic held up the worm container, voice quiet. “There was a moccasin.”

Paw Paw squinted at him for a long second, then shifted his gaze to Stiggy, who had settled beside him in the grass, tongue lolling out, watching the tree line. The old man gave a knowing nod. “Mmhmm. That one always knows when something don’t belong here.” He reached down and gave Stiggy a slow pat on the head, then turned back to the pond.

“Land talks if you listen close enough,” he said, almost to himself. “Some of us just got better ears, that’s all.”

He paused, pulled in a breath like he was taking in the air from generations back. Then he let out a deep, hearty laugh that rolled through the trees like thunder off the hills.

“Shoot, boy—you think I keep this dog around ‘cause he’s pretty?”

Martin chuckled and shook his head. Dominic smiled, heart still thumping, but lighter now. He took a seat on the edge of the dock, feet swinging just above the water, worm container beside him. Stiggy moved to lie just behind him, always between him and whatever might come out of the woods.

Paw Paw cast his line and leaned back like he was settling into a memory. And for a long, quiet moment, they all just listened—to the trees, the water, and the slow, steady pulse of land and heartbeat of creatures that had always known how to take care of its own.

Written by Rebeka Wilson

Let me know what you think below please. This is my shortest short story at 2100 words. I don’t know what else it needs. I’ve edited two other stories today and my brain is a little frazzled. I am compiling them into a collection of sorts. I will circle back to it after some time heals my mind zoomies. Any advice is welcome. Thank you kindly.