A Slow Traveler

I took your advice and slipped outside into the soft drizzle to see who might be abroad. Tucked beneath the wide, sheltering curve of a wet hosta leaf, I found him: a round garden snail, moving with a steady patience that made even my own deliberate steps look hurried. I knelt down on the damp flagstone, holding my brass binoculars quietly against my coat to avoid any clinking. With measured grace, the snail extended its slender eye-stalks toward a trembling droplet, drawing a fine, glistening ribbon of silver across the dark slate. I stayed completely still, admiring how peaceful a rainy afternoon can truly be.