A Contemplation of Shell and Slime during a Mid-afternoon Conversation about Home

Snail: “You’re awfully exposed my dear. Won’t you at least consider adopting a shell?”

Slug: “Darling I prefer to be free to twist and twirl along the thinnest cracks of earth and rocks. Your shell is home, but holds you back from knowing the deepest, richest, and...” the slug pauses in reflection, “moistest crevices of my home.”

Snail: “Your home? My sweet you’re homeLESS. Vulnerable to predators and the,” they shudder, “the sun.”

Slug: They shake their head in earnest. “My delightful slimeling I implore you, the earth is my home. Every stone and leaf and puddle of soupy mud is my shell. I trust the earth with my protection. And if I’m slurped up or crisped by the sun then it is my time to return to the earth and give thanks for my protection.”

Snail: The snail fell silent and fluttered quietly for a little while with their slimy wings.

The slug hummed along as they slithered through

the swaying shadows in the undergrowth.

Cool and hidden from the mid-afternoon sun.

Colored Pencil, Ink, 2020