- Feb 3, 2024
- LitBits
- 0
New blog post by AgentPete – discussions in this thread, please
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It was an irresistible afternoon, the gorgeously seductive late summer / early-autumn sunlight inviting me to come play in the woods… how could I refuse? So I grabbed some wild garlic bulbs and a trowel and hied me to the dappled paradise. Work could wait, at least for a couple of hours.
Bulb planting is an absorbing experience. You don’t look up much. Your zone of attention narrows to a few centimetres. Little else exists.
But there was something else.
It was a tickle, a slight disturbance on the back of my hand; less than a breeze but more than a falling leaf.
An itch?
No, more sensual than that.
And… moist.
I refocused from the bulb-in-question and found…
A large snail.
Gently but with great determination mounting the back of my right hand.
I could feel his mouth gently probing and exploring.
It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
At my wrist-line now, his eyestalks taking me in.
We thought about each other for a while.
He knew that I knew he was there, no question. An incalculably large animal, perhaps fierce, perhaps a snail-eater.
But he was still climbing.
Because – I was there.
Total respect, little snail. Had our roles been reversed, I would not be so plucky.
I let him conquer my right arm, a Matterhorn of the molluscan world, sliver slime trail in his wake.
At shoulder height, I balked.
There’s something odd about the idea of a man walking around with a snail on his shoulder.
Parrots, well yes. Cats, even: I’ve seen them doing that in Regent’s Park.
But not a snail. Neither of us would get the respect we rightly deserve.
Gently, I lifted him down. And he crawled away.
With a story to tell his grand-kids.
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By @AgentPete
Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
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It was an irresistible afternoon, the gorgeously seductive late summer / early-autumn sunlight inviting me to come play in the woods… how could I refuse? So I grabbed some wild garlic bulbs and a trowel and hied me to the dappled paradise. Work could wait, at least for a couple of hours.
Bulb planting is an absorbing experience. You don’t look up much. Your zone of attention narrows to a few centimetres. Little else exists.
But there was something else.
It was a tickle, a slight disturbance on the back of my hand; less than a breeze but more than a falling leaf.
An itch?
No, more sensual than that.
And… moist.
I refocused from the bulb-in-question and found…
A large snail.
Gently but with great determination mounting the back of my right hand.
I could feel his mouth gently probing and exploring.
It wasn’t unpleasant at all.
At my wrist-line now, his eyestalks taking me in.
We thought about each other for a while.
He knew that I knew he was there, no question. An incalculably large animal, perhaps fierce, perhaps a snail-eater.
But he was still climbing.
Because – I was there.
Total respect, little snail. Had our roles been reversed, I would not be so plucky.
I let him conquer my right arm, a Matterhorn of the molluscan world, sliver slime trail in his wake.
At shoulder height, I balked.
There’s something odd about the idea of a man walking around with a snail on his shoulder.
Parrots, well yes. Cats, even: I’ve seen them doing that in Regent’s Park.
But not a snail. Neither of us would get the respect we rightly deserve.
Gently, I lifted him down. And he crawled away.
With a story to tell his grand-kids.
---
By @AgentPete
Get the discussion going – post your thoughts & comments in the thread below…
