The Snail and the Silver Path
The rain had gone soft now, just a whisper on the leaves.
A little snail came out from under a broad green leaf, slow and shining, and looked at the garden.
The rain was soft.
The leaves were wet.
Everything was still.
Slowly, slowly, the snail began to move. She left a silver line behind her, glimmering along the stone. Where she went, the path turned to light.
Slow and shining, the snail went on. Slow and shining, over the cool wet stone.
A raindrop hung on a blade of grass, round and clear, holding a whole tiny garden inside it. The snail looked and looked. The little world in the drop looked back.
One drop.
One garden.
So small, so bright.
On she went, past a mushroom with a soft brown cap, past a curl of moss that felt like velvet under her small slow foot. The moss was greener than green. The moss was quiet and kind.
Slow and shining, the snail went on. Slow and shining, over the soft green moss.
A worm poked up his head from the dark warm earth. "Where are you going, little snail?" he asked.
"I am going where the path takes me," said the snail. "Slow and shining, all the way home."
The worm smiled and slipped back down, and the garden hummed its quiet hum.
Above her, a spider's web caught the last of the mist. Each tiny thread wore a row of small clear beads, and they trembled just a little, glimmering. The snail watched them shine.
The web was still.
The beads were bright.
The air was cool and grey.
Now the light was growing soft and gold. The snail could feel the warmth of it on her shell, warm as a slow small sun.
Slow and shining, the snail came home. Home was a leaf, wide and green and low.
She curled beneath it, out of the last few drops, her small foot cool against the cool green leaf. The silver path stretched all the way behind her, still glimmering in the dusk.
The garden grew quiet. The garden grew dim.
And under her leaf, snug and small, the little snail was warm.