Where there's humidity in Vermont, you'll find these bugs that look like worms. I don't recall their proper name. The pest guy I hired to inspect my property told me. Usually, you'll find them curled up, dried and dead. (The wormy thing-os; not pest control people, per se.) When alive, they crawl along walls and, if you look closely, you can see they're cute: little antennae and everything.

There was one in my kitchen sink. At first, I thought it had put itself in danger. But, after about three days, I realized it had made a smart move. Every day, enough water came its way to keep it hydrated; alive.

Sometimes, of course, the water would prove too hot or abundant, and it would have to scramble--as best it could in its worm-like way--to avoid it. It found high ground on the overturned drain sieve.

I began to wonder whether maybe I seemed like, well, some kind of god to the creature. I sent rain and disaster; allowed it to live when I might, just as easily, have sent it to its doom and felt no more than passing guilt, if that. It couldn't have reached the house nextdoor in its lifetime. That is, I would take about as long, relatively speaking, were I to travel to the next gallaxy.

Looking at this little wormy bug ("Charlie?" "Ernie..?"), I got to thinking maybe some huge creature was our accidental god.

Maybe that's why I wanted to come home.