A Snail Snooze

The sun lulls us and we eat our tuna sandwiches in companionable silence. M sits on the table and stares into the space just above the ground. I sit on the bench with my back against the table and watch a snail slowly trail across the gravel towards the grass.

Not having legs, I'm fascinated how he moves his black slimy body. And not having a shell, I guess he is actually a slug. I've seen a number of his compatriots squished into a mess by bike tires on the road. I wonder where he is journeying to. He's in no hurry; he has all afternoon to get there.

He slides onto the grass and a small piece of gravel stuck to the end of his body slides with him. I watch as he curls up underneath the leaf of a dandelion weed ready to take his Saturday afternoon snooze.

"Look!" I say to M. "This snail has just curled up to go to sleep."

M opens his eyes, "Perhaps tomorrow after church, I should go and pick up the shoe boxes from Willingdon."

I look back at the slug. The wonder at his little life is going to be mine alone. M and I fall silent again, he, preoccupied with thoughts about deadlines and Samaritan's Purse shoe boxes, me, I watch a slug sleep.

I look again at M. His eyes are closed, his head bowed, enjoying the warm sun. I take my cue from him and close my eyes too. And so we snooze in the mid-afternoon sun: M and me - and a slug.