The Crossing

So I might have mentioned in the past about the snails on my front walkway.  The walkway is bordered on each side by plants.  On each side lives what I’m sure are two colonies of snails.  On rainy days when I come outside, I find a virtual sea of snails on my walkway.  I never even knew snails came in different sizes.  But they do.  For the small ones, even the shells are tiny.  It’s really cute.  I must look like an idiot to my neighbors because when I walk out I avoid stepping on the snails (what kind of monster steps on snails?)  I jump around to avoid them.  On rainy days, there must be 50 of them out there.

So the other morning I walk out, and it’s not raining, so there is maybe just 1 or 2 snails out there, and a huge slug.

I think to myself about how slowly the slug moves.  At a snail’s pace, so to speak.  Really, really slow.  I think about this as I bound down the walkway, about how for that snail, just crossing the walkway to the other side is a huge trip.  And how in human terms, that trip across the walkway for a slug is probably the equivalent of a couple of months for us.

And I think, hey, maybe these are two completely separate colonies, one per side of the walkway, and that these slugs I see crossing over, they’re the adventurers of their society.  They’re the Magellan or Christopher Columbus of snails.  Crossing the great divide.  Unafraid.  Braving the dangers of crossing.  Except they probably use capital letters, right?  The Crossing.

And I think about the first one to do it.  Do the snails venerate him?  Are there little snail statues of Xibit, the first snail to successfully make “The Crossing?” Did little Xibit come back after telling the East Side Snails about life on the other side?  Is what I see in the morning their version of immigration?  Snails who want to find a better life for themselves.  Snails who just want to go where no one knows them, to start over?

I can certainly say one thing: no more escargo for me.


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