The Snail

Every night the snail comes out of the tall grasses where she lives and crosses the walkway.

S-L-O-W-L-Y she makes her way across the path.

She is going to eat my impatiens in the garden.

I know this.

And yet every night I watch her cross the great wide expanse of my front walk.

And I don’t have the heart to kill her.

The impatiens are dying, only one lone plant left. 

I hope it’s enough to keep her alive.