The Song Of The Snail - Gail Onion

[Larry Robinson]

The Song Of The Snail

Once upon a time actually in mushroom time, there was a snail
who was a poet and roamed through roots, leaves, and flowers,
whispering poetic verse, in the Very Best Oral Tradition, for poems
are meant to be read out loud. Others of her kind thought this 
behavior a foolish errand. I mean, they said. who cares about the
poetic musings of a snail. Sentimental Hogwash! but the lilies cared
and the cyclamen, the narcissus and the roses; and later in summer the berries, peaches, apples and persimmons. The deer often leaned down
to listen, as did the rabbit, the fox, and even the grumpy bear.
The Amanita Muscaria offered to host the snail and her poetry on the 
Full moon in early Spring. Perfect, said the snail a little shyly, for
it was such a great honor. Thus, on a resplendent night, with an
audience above of glittering stars while below at snail level, the Forest dwellers knew magic was to happen and all agreed to have a collective hush and to listen respectfully and deeply.
I remember that evening. My friend and I lay down in the soft cool grass 
near the mushroom where the snail was reciting on the ruby red pedestal.
We were so young that we understood every word of the poems that the snail spoke in her tiny snail voice.
It was a blessing, for after that night and in 
every poem I have read since, I hear the song of the snail, and it is a good song.  Sometimes also the voice of the Oak Tree
the stream, the stones of the water ways, even the voices of the old gods of the woods. We called out our ‘thank you’ to the snail poet and to the Full Moon but the snail had already moved to her secret place taking her poems with her.

	- Gail Onion

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