Two Snails and a Very Long Road

On the morning of the first warm day of summer, Edmund looked across the garden and saw it.

A flower.

Not just any flower. The most beautiful flower he had ever seen in all his snail life — bright red, perfectly round, at the very far end of the garden path.

“Bertie,” he said to his brother, who was still eating breakfast (a very small piece of leaf), “we should go to that flower.”

Bertie looked up. He looked across the garden. He looked at Edmund.

“That is very far,” said Bertie.

“It is,” Edmund agreed. “But think how wonderful it will be when we get there.”

Bertie thought about this. He finished his leaf. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

And so they set off.

The first obstacle was the Great Hose.

This was what Edmund called the green garden hose that lay coiled across the middle of the path. To a snail, it was the size of a mountain range.

“We’ll never get over,” said Bertie.

“We’ll go around,” said Edmund.

They went around. It took a very long time. A beetle watched them from a nearby pebble and did not offer to help.

The second obstacle was the Enormous Puddle.

It had rained the night before, and the puddle sat in the middle of the path like a small sea. A worm swam past.

“We’ll never cross,” said Bertie.

“We’ll go around,” said Edmund.

They went around. A sparrow landed nearby and tilted her head at them with great curiosity. Bertie waved. She flew away.

The third obstacle was the Garden Wall.

It was not a real wall. It was, in truth, a single red brick that had fallen off the raised bed. But to a snail, a brick is as solid and immovable as any fortress in any kingdom.

“We’ll never get over,” said Bertie. He sat down. “Edmund. I’m tired. My shell hurts. The flower is too far. I think we should go home.”

Edmund looked at his brother. Then he looked at the flower, still red and round and waiting at the end of the path.

Then he sat down beside Bertie.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s rest.”

They sat for a while. A ladybird crawled past. The sun moved slowly across the sky. A bumblebee droned above them in a warm, dreamy loop.

“Do you remember,” said Edmund, “when we were very small, and we tried to climb the big strawberry, and we fell off four times before we got to the top?”

“Yes,” said Bertie.

“And when we got to the top — do you remember how it tasted?”

Bertie was quiet for a moment.

“Like the best thing in the world,” he said softly.

“Yes,” said Edmund.

They sat for a little more. Then Bertie stood up, shifted his shell, and said, “Around the brick, then?”

“Around the brick,” said Edmund.

They went around.

By the time they reached the flower, the sun was low and golden in the sky. The garden was turning amber and rose. Fireflies were beginning to appear in the long grass like tiny floating lanterns.

The flower was even more beautiful up close.

Its petals were soft as velvet. It smelled like summer itself — like warm earth and honey and something you couldn’t quite name but that made you feel you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

Edmund and Bertie sat at its base for a long time, not saying anything. There wasn’t anything to say.

“Worth it?” Edmund asked at last.

“Worth it,” said Bertie. Then: “Everything hurts.”

“Everything hurts,” agreed Edmund.

They laughed — the small, wheezy laugh that snails have, which sounds like wind through very tiny grass.

When it was fully dark, they turned and began the long journey home.

They would be back by morning.

Probably.

The End.