The Silver Path

A glistening thread of wet silver was unspooling across the dry flagstones of the park path. In the center of the pale stone, a small amber-shelled snail crawled steadily toward the sunlit glare, unaware of the heat drying its trail. I knelt beside it without a whisper of breeze, matching its soundless pace. Rather than disturbing its fragile shell with sudden force, I laid a broad, damp sycamore leaf flat in its path. I waited... unblinking. Slowly, its horns brushed the green surface, gliding forward onto the moist veins. With both hands, I carried the leaf to the cool moss beneath the curb. It did not retreat into its shell. Now... it wanders where the ground does not thirst.