Two Memories

It's funny sometimes how random memories appear, ancient ones sometimes, perfectly meaningless little snippets in time and why that memory and not others?

Today it's worms, worms from the early seventies, the smell of them, the dampness of the air, the little umbrella I carried, so perfect for spearing their oblivious little bodies and what are you doing on the pavement anyway?

I can still, nearly 35 years later, muster up a feeling of guilt for sending the meringue snowman my mother had purchased for me flying over a fence into a field once it's cloying sweetness was no longer satisfactory.