It was early on a Saturday morning
when I found the tiny slug.
It was stranded in the middle of a parking lot,
still wet with dew, but that would soon
become a trackless desert for small creatures.
With a small blade of grass, I coaxed
the slug onto my thumb. It sat there, shyly
peaking its feelers out, no bigger than my nail.
My heart melted. I walked it to the bushes,
and saying "goodbye, small friend", brought it home.
I think often about the measure of my life.
Do I draw Meaning from my weight on a scale
held by some all-powerful, cosmic being?
From how my life touches those around?
From the music I leave behind?
The answer to these questions is not the one I like.
But as long as there are tiny slugs in parking lots
I will live on
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 8:53 AM UTC
It was early on a Saturday morning
when I found the tiny slug.
It was stranded in the middle of a parking lot,
still wet with dew, but that would soon
become a trackless desert for small creatures.
With a small blade of grass, I coaxed
the slug onto my thumb. It sat there, shyly
peaking its feelers out, no bigger than my nail.
My heart melted. I walked it to the bushes,
and saying "goodbye, small friend", brought it home.
I think often about the measure of my life.
Do I draw Meaning from my weight on a scale
held by some all-powerful, cosmic being?
From how my life touches those around?
From the music I leave behind?
The answer to these questions is not the one I like.
But as long as there are tiny slugs in parking lots
I will live on
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