A Morning Tremor

Stepped out from the watering can as the pale morning crept in. The grass stood tall... heavy with cold dew clinging to my shins. Ahead, near the weathered fence post, the earth shifted. A thick, dark mound swelled upward, tossing aside damp grains of loam. I halted. Planted my footing wide, rifle leveled low across my midriff. No retreat. From the crest of the fresh dirt, a pale pink earthworm churned into the open air, testing the cold mist. We stood locked in silence. A good, unyielding watch.