Today I was in the back yard and tucked into a boxwood branch was a leaf that caught my attention.
It looked as if it had been crocheted. A lacy pattern constructed without a pattern.
Lifting it up to admire it, I saw it had a resident. A tiny snail. The artist. Can you spot him?
I watched him for a time as he glided across his canvas. Crossing from one side to the next. I turned the leaf slowly in my hand. He made his way to my thumb. I moved it several times but he insisted investigating it. So I allowed him.
I watched to see if I could see him touch first or feel him touch. I saw him touch before I felt it. A kiss of a touch.
I tucked him safely into a planter and brought the leaf inside to keep. To remember this day.
I saw a little snail
Come down the garden walk.
He wagged his head this way – that way-
Like a clown in a circus.
He looked from side to side
As though he was from a different country.
I have always said he carries his house on this back-
To-day in the rain
I saw that it was his umbrella!
Hilda Conkling (Poems by a Little Girl 1919)