The Snail-Saver
Every time it rains, the snails come out. They leave a milky trail behind as they crisscross the walkway in front of our building, heading toward the green grass on the other side.
Once, the walkway was littered with crushed snails, like so many eggshells smashed under quick feet with purpose. “Who would do that?” the boy asks. For him, every life is still precious. The snails do no harm here on these tiny strips between gray buildings. There are no gardens to ruin.
When it rains, the boy comes out and delights in each oddly-shaped snail. One by one, he places them with a careful hand–sometimes on a leaf, sometimes on the grass, away from quick feet and snail-smashers.
Like the snail, he’s not in a hurry; he has plenty of time to get where he is going.
