The Snail on the Timber

Morning mist still clung to the soil along the garden path. Past the watering can, a vertical timber post rose out of the weeds. I marched toward it. Halfway up the damp cedar grain, a small pale garden snail crept in absolute silence. Fragile spiral armor. I halted. Instead of striking, I tilted my neck slowly, pressing the blunt side of my snout against the wet bark just beneath its trail. My breath rattled low against the wood. The tiny creature pulled in its horns, freezing tight to the grain. Living tenant recognized. I stepped back one pace, snapped my jaw once, and left its post undisturbed.