On protecting worms from robins

and sending regret on it's merry way

Yesterday I got things wrong.

Yesterday, I compared regret to the small cry of a dying bird.

That’s not correct enough.

Regret is a robin, bobbing along and pulling fresh, productive worms from the garden bed that I’m working on.

The worms take the horse shit and hay that I add to the sandy clay based topsoil and make magic. Worms take the shit, the left overs, the unwanted and turn it into a medium to grow.

Worms go through about a gram of organic matter per day. A pile of horse manure can contain hundreds of worms, each helping it integrate and become useful. Each work hastens the process.

The robins of regret? They slow things down. When they remove enough worms, the shit stays stinky for longer. The waste remains wasteful. Everything slows down.

That’s what regrets do to the decomposition of grief. They remove an essential part of our emotional eco systems. Robins in their removal of the shit eaters, leave behind the land of ‘could’ve, would’ve, should’ve’ - a fetid desolate place wher…