petit gris: do not envy the snail

And she considered them, unirked by the present devourment of the strawberry patch. “I envy the snail,” she said, “because they’re so simple. They just exist without violence in pretty little shells, golden brown and yellow flecked. Mama, I wish I were a snail.”

“You don’t want to be a snail, babe.”

“But I do! I want my life to be simple.”

Then along came a tongue-slinging toad, too hungry to be bothered by me and my girl. “Life isn’t simple for anyone,” I said. “Do not envy the snail.”




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