Walking on the coast-side trail, I knelt to examine a rather large snail, oozing its way to . . . where? Why would he (she?) risk the interminable, inorganic crossing of tarmac, with certain oblivion just a careless footstep away? Is it possible that this tiny creature knows what is on the other side? Kneeling down, I could not help but notice the similarity of living quarters between myself and this cepaea nemoaus, with everything tucked under a protective roof. When I examined those protruding eyes, I thought of the Martians in Nicky’s book, with their snail eyes desperately seeking Earth mothers, and I knew this was the Year of the Snail.
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