A Patient Snail's Journey

I walked slowly along the uneven flagstones behind the house, letting my staff strike each weathered rock with a hollow thud. Near a cracked terracotta pot filled with dry moss, something moved with deliberate quiet. A small garden snail was inching across a pale grey stone, leaving behind a faint, glistening trail under the noon sun. I leaned forward, resting both hands over the carved skull atop my walking stick, and stayed motionless. For long minutes, the only sound was the rustle of nearby dry grasses. When its soft horns brushed the edge of my wooden staff, it turned slightly without haste, and I let it pass undisturbed into the cool damp of the shaded soil.