Something on the sidewalk caught my girlfriend’s eye last night. We were walking home from the bus, and it was after dark, but the glint of something shiny on the ground was unmistakable. What had we stumbled upon?
Not your average slug...at least I hope not.
It was a slug. Not just any slug, mind you. We’re talking about sluggus giganticus. The creature had to be four inches long and almost inch in diameter. More impressive than its size, however, was the length of its slime trail. Looking like the consequence of a most unfortunate sneeze, the trail started at the right margin of the sidewalk, then proceeded in a gentle arc toward the other edge.
What struck me about the slug’s predicament was that the slime trail started on the sidewalk, not on the grass; it had almost certainly fallen out of the tree above us, a drop of fifteen feet or more. Maybe it had been enjoying a nice dinner of maple leaves, or was settling down for a quiet evening with its partner slug. Then all hell breaks loose. There’s an unfortunate tumble, barren new surroundings, and home/safety an awfully long way away, especially at a slug’s pace.
Having survived the fall, what to do now? Wait until morning and bake on the sidewalk? No, the only choice is to get moving. If you forget about the slime part, a slug in motion is weirdly beautiful. The undulations of its body are precise and hypnotic, and progress is definite, even if not at a rate that we would prefer.
Who knows how long that slug had been there when we happened upon it, but by the time we finished gaping at it and went on our way, it had reached the middle of the sidewalk. Not half-way home, necessarily, but progress for sure. Oh, to have the patience of a slug.
