At Miranda, the soft sunshine and spring warmth is encouraging the strongly scented Fennel Forest to sprout up again from the base of the dry stalks of last year's forest. But every night the old dry stems are a staircase to the sky for zillions of snails. They scrape away with their radulas at the last of the old fennel skin and encounter each other for conversation and sex. In the morning as the sun silvers the Firth of Thames to almost blinding sparkle, the snails slither down the stems, across the path (scrunch scrunch as you walk - auggh) and slide back to their secret day-time shelters.
(This post has a Starting-With-S Score of 27/108.)
Perhaps conversations and sex are not uppermost in their minds. They may simply be climbing high to see the godwits.
ReplyDeleteWhat is a snail conversation like?
ReplyDeleteYP - They can't see the godwits. It's dark.
ReplyDeleteRobert -
"S!"
"Sn."
"F, f, f!"
"Sn sn s"
"S! S!"
"Pl, sn, fl."
etc.
The French and Italians would have a great time snail harvesting. Has anyone though of exporting them I wonder. Tinned snails are quite the thing in Paris apparently.
ReplyDeleteI couldn't understand the last 'fl' ! My snail is srusty.