Welcome Silence

All hail the snail.

How does one whisper in a blog. I am whispering.

As I watched, this small fellow/gal slowly emerged onto the lip of a rose blossom.

I cheered.

(Silent appreciation.)

Everything's Relative

Small

Large

Small 

Large

Larger

click photos to enlarge

All Because of a Book

Because I can't put out the garbage till early Tuesday morning, about an hour before the truck crew arrives (think raccoons; it's not a pretty picture), I waddled out, grabbed a can, rolled it back to the steps, prepping for tomorrow.

Then I saw the snail.

Elizabeth Tova Bailey's The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating leapt to mind.

I knew I couldn't put my garbage in the can. What would happen to the snail, whose life is spent in a tiny universe (hers lived in a terrarium), so I dragged it back to the trees, grabbed another, rolled it to the steps, and went inside, foot-fore but happy.

When I finish the book I'm reading now, I know what I will re-read next.

The Tiny House

The Crossing
by Ruth Moose

The snail at the edge of the road
inches forward, a trim gray finger
of a fellow in a pinstripe suit.
He's burdened by his house
that has to follow
where he goes. Every inch,
he pulls together
all he is,
all he owns,
all he was given.

The road is wide
but he is called
by something
that knows him
on the other side.