Little Snail Syndrome
The air is saturated with a fine mist. It carries with it the earthiness of a dripping oak, a dank of wet soil. A snail slithers along the spongy bark, a mobile wart on the mighty tree. Its body is mottled with crystal droplets from the recent rain.
The shell of the snail, resembling an acorn both in size and colour, bears rivets of time. Tiny grooves that are left on display for the world to see, proof of the snail's personal journey. A silent request for recognition.
Of mighty girth, the tree stands modestly as it ages. Just beneath the oak's tough exterior lies a pattern of infinite rings, radiating outward like ripples from a smooth pebble tossed into a pool. Unlike the snail, the tree allows its size longevity to speak for itself.
Condensation slides slowly from a leaf, caressing the edge before falling to the ground with a tiny hollow plop. A whisper slips through the mist, a low creak from the oak's massive trunk, a tiny reminder of its presence.
The shell of the snail, resembling an acorn both in size and colour, bears rivets of time. Tiny grooves that are left on display for the world to see, proof of the snail's personal journey. A silent request for recognition.
Of mighty girth, the tree stands modestly as it ages. Just beneath the oak's tough exterior lies a pattern of infinite rings, radiating outward like ripples from a smooth pebble tossed into a pool. Unlike the snail, the tree allows its size longevity to speak for itself.
Condensation slides slowly from a leaf, caressing the edge before falling to the ground with a tiny hollow plop. A whisper slips through the mist, a low creak from the oak's massive trunk, a tiny reminder of its presence.