(Today’s effort is courtesy of Tammy B’ s terrific creativity email. Disclaimer: She bears absolutely no responsibility for the way it turned out!)
Six slimy slugs slide silently, skirting the sundial’s center, spreading slime, sensing spring, satisfied. It has been a long winter. Fortunately the Oregon rain makes them shine, their backs glistening as it christens them. An added advantage is it keeps the humans inside. Bliss, this!
You know what humans bring, yes? Salt. Despite what gardening wisdom tells them, we mostly two-legged creatures ignore the warning: nothing will grow here—ever—if tainted with salt, sodium hydrochloride. Terrestrial molluscs are generally pretty nondescript, meaning, as “pests, ” they most slide unobserved.
Banana slugs are the exception, their yellow mottled skin shouts loudly to the naked eye. Twenty-nine species of slug exist here; 15 of them are exotic. Here’s the thing, most of the slugs, though unsightly, do little real damage. They shoot their love darts, their hermaphroditic attempts at progeny and slither away to a refuge, their home, at the end of the day.
More about slugs? I think not. Suffice it to say, facts are poetry, too. I’m storing my salt in the cabinet, hoping those slugs on the sundial make it home safely.