The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth's dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,
pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury? All
I think is that if later
I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.
There's a new expression: snail hunter!!!...
Every time I step out onto our veranda on a cool, slightly damp morning (not now, obviously!!), I can find some of my window cleaners already at work, hunting to get the last dirt off the panes before the sun is up to high and dries the work force out... LOL
Over breakfast we ponder their silent and steadfast proceedings. They move mostly in the dark and yet leave traces of (some) light behind... If you don't believe this, come and look at their work...!! But you can only see their art on a humid or wet day; they are definitely not exhibiting for everybody, only for the true art lover!
Taken for the Two Word Wednesdays group.
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