29.

A few days ago we visited the grave of my father-in-law. While my wife & her mum tended to the plot I stood by the old stone wall & took in the view out over the fields that slip down to the river. I was also very taken with the wall itself, the stones whitened by lichen & dotted with perfect little worlds of moss, islands of comfortable detail I was only too happy to disappear into. At one point I noticed a delicate conical snail shell trapped in a crack between two stones. I amused myself with the game of trying to free it. It seemed well stuck but by jiggling it with a couple of dried stalks I was eventually able to get it loose. It struck me as very precious, a real marvel, so I tucked it safely in the fold of my wallet & carried it home. I was sure it was empty but for a scrap of dehydrated tissue at the far end. This morning I found it stuck to a pine cone I had collected & when I looked closer saw its tiny dark grey head spiked with a couple of cute little horns. I will now find a place for it outside. It reminds me of a proverb I picked up just the other day, from The Lady Who Loved Insects, translated by Arthur Waley:

“For the ground between a snail’s horns what use to fight?”