I just moved a snail
from one place to another.
It was entangled in yard debris,
lying right in the path of danger,
and I moved it.
“You’re going to get stepped on,” I said,
as I walked it from the confusion of the aggregate patio
to the relative calm of the deck.
This is its chance.
It has been saved,
and all the world is before it.
All choices are open.
All directions available.
It can explore the yard,
climb the fence,
examine the swing set,
head for the trees.
It can even inch its way back
to where it was when
the big decision was made on its behalf,
re-engage that piece of yard trash,
and establish its home in harm’s way.
All choices are open.
What will this little creature,
body mumbling of mud and earth,
shell whispering of ocean and infinity,
do with this unexpected gift?
New mercies it has seen this morning;
what will it make of its brand-new start?
What will I make of mine?
Lindy Thompson 
Interesting how this stopped me in my tracks – makes me look at me a little differently. I wonder if that snail knows how powerful it is?
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Lindy! I am that little snail in God’s world! I am not grateful enough, I know. Thank you for this poem.
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