This morning, behind my house, I found a smushed snail, the opalescent shell fragmented into the messy guts of the body. Surely the work of one of the neighborhood kids. I've had the desire to smush them myself from time to time, just to hear the crack of the shell, like the crunch of a fall leaf. Just because sometimes I have the urge to destroy beautiful things.
Nature's critters were busy and by this afternoon nothing remained but pieces of the shell, still catching the light just right in a way that was maybe more beautiful than before. Maybe more tragic. If the death of a snail can even be deemed tragic.
I walked past the pieces and down the muddy hill in my backyard. Trying to find my balance in a slippery place, trying to make it all the way to the bottom of the hill without holding on and without falling.
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