The Worm Chronicles/Part I

Took my morning walk today, down to the beach. Clear skies, sunny day, right after a rain so the beach was silky smooth. No humans had walked it yet today.

As I skipped down the stairs, I was stopped dead in my tracks by a thick pink body lying on the sand.

A worm. Alive.

I couldn't believe my luck. Thrilled beyond words, I hunted down an oyster shell—because, after all, I was not quite excited enough to touch it with my bare hands—and picked it up. Nice, healthy color. No wounds to indicate some higher species tried to eat it. No fungi or other apparent diseases.

Definitely a contender for the Aquarium.

And so in he went, into my tomato-jar-turned-saltwater carrying case. At home, I slipped him into the Aquarium and peered closer to watch how he acclimates.

First reaction, he coiled up in the front left corner and whipped about a little, no doubt confused and feeling out of place. Here he is:

Nice, no? In fact let me give you a closer look at his spines:

Now you know why I don't pick up sea worms with my bare hands. Nothing to do with being a girl. Not even my seasoned fisherman husband would touch it. You never know what kind of poison or toxic juices these creatures have.

Oh, he's now burrowing into the substrate. Fleshy pink segments disappearing into the white coral sand, dislodging the rocks above. Let's let him dig in.