Monday, October 18

this is a slug story

{seattle's washington arboretum}

When I sat down next to this little guy, he bravely put out his eyestalks and looked around, kind of slow and thoughtful like a cow. There he was, slimy and squishy, and slow as bejeebers, just doing his delicate thing on the forest floor, liable at any moment to get stepped on or eaten by a bird. He trustingly (or nearsightedly, I have no idea how far they can see) continued on his way heedless of any danger, scooting along and looking circumspectly all around him as he picked his way gingerly across the gravel path, a magical marvel of muscle and detail.

It kind of all tore at my heart. I wished I could understand what he thought about. Where he was going; what was next for him. If he was happy and if he needed anything.

But the gulf between us was wide. There was really nothing I could offer.

Life is a curious thing sometimes.