The Tomato Hornworm

 Bare branches on the tomato plant
 Suddenly caught my eye.
 Fear strikes me as I slowly
 Step in closer to inspect the leafless branch,
 Knowing I must find the destructive vandal.

 Searching, searching, searching...
 Same green as the leaves.
 Fatter and longer than my thumb.
 Disgustingly plump for a worm.
 Slow but a ravenous eater.

 Looking up from below.
 Looking down from above.
 Not touching the plant in case
 My fingers should feel the
 Soft, squishy skin...
 Or the horn protruding from the head,
 Or is that the tail?

 Surely I should be able to see the black and white

spots and stripes,
 Lining the body in a perfect pattern.
 Looking along the bare stems,
 Looking under the curled leaves.

 Ahhhhhhh!
 Even fatter than I remember.
 Now what?  I ask myself.
 Save the plant, I hear a voice pleading in my head.
 Courage, where's my courage?

  I slowly move in to rescue the plant.
 Snip went the scissors across the stem.
 Plop, the tomato hornworm fell to the ground
 Still munching and clinging to it's branch.

 Can't leave it here!
 Then where?
 I  slide on my garden gloves.
 And pinch the stem as I slowly raise it up
 To meet my wondering eyes.

 I can't harm Mother Nature's hornworm!
 But it can't harm our tomato plants either.
 It's garden waste, I tell myself.
 There will be lots for it to eat in the compost bin.
 It may even burrow into the rich compost,
 And pupate into a cocoon.

 So carefully I walk my prisoner to the compost bin,
 Open the lid and drop it in.
 Someday a lucky gardener may lift the lid
 And watch a beautiful hornworm moth emerge.

 The moth may mate with another hornworm moth,
 Then fly to another tomato plant
 To lay its eggs on the leaves.

 The eggs will hatch
 And there will be
 Many more tomato hornworms
 To surprise and fascinate

 Even more gardeners.