The Snail Who Carried the Moon

In the tall wet grass at the edge of the garden, a small snail named Pim woke up when the evening came. The day had been warm, and now the air smelled of rain that had already fallen and gone.

Pim stretched his soft grey body out of his shell, slow as honey.

On his back he carried his shell, round and silver, curling round and round to a tiny point. It shone a little in the last of the light. And Pim went slowly, because slowly was the only speed he knew.

"I think I'll go and see the pond," Pim said softly to himself. "I like the pond."

So off he went, one gentle inch at a time, over a smooth stone, under a leaf shaped like a heart, past a sleepy beetle who was tucking her legs beneath her for the night.

And the garden was quiet. And the garden was kind.

The path to the pond was long for such a small snail, but Pim did not mind. He watched a moth float by like a slow soft feather. He felt the dew gather on his shell, one round drop at a time. Every little thing was worth watching, and Pim watched them all.

By the time he reached the water, the pink had gone from the sky, and the first star had opened like a tiny window. Pim came to rest at the pond's edge, where the mud was soft and cool.

Then the moon rose.

It climbed up slow and round and yellow, up over the dark trees, and it laid a long shining path right across the still black water. And there, on Pim's silver shell, the moonlight caught and gathered and glowed.

"Oh," whispered Pim, turning just a little, "I'm carrying the moon."

And it was true. On his small round back, the whole bright moon seemed to sit and ride along, glowing silver-white, as Pim moved gently by the water's edge.

A frog blinked at him from a lily pad. "You carry it well," said the frog, in a low soft voice.

"I go slowly," said Pim. "That's how you carry something round."

The frog nodded and closed his golden eyes, and the pond grew quieter still.

And the garden was quiet. And the garden was kind. And the moon rode softly on Pim's silver back.

Pim did not want to go anywhere else now. He had the pond, and the cool mud, and the stars opening one by one above him, and the whole warm night wrapped around him like a blanket that never ends.

Slowly, so slowly, he drew his soft body back inside his shell, curling round and round to the tiny point, safe and small and home. The moonlight stayed on the silver curve, glowing gentle in the dark.

Inside his shell it was warm, and quiet, and round. Pim felt the cool grass beneath him and the soft glow above him, and he was exactly where he wished to be.

And the garden was quiet. And the garden was kind. And a small snail rested at the edge of the shining water, carrying the moon, all the long slow night.