Snails!

Still, the perversity of snails!
They squander labour in the leaves
And soon the thrushes find their trails
For on each lengthy inch of road
Slime follows them till death arrives.
From Speech in the Desert by Dom Moraes

Now that the rains are here, the snails are everywhere.
Yesterday I found one on the mossy ledge. How did it
climb up so high where there was no sign of food? Or
did it climb only to become food for the birds? The
sky was overcast and the afternoon was like dusk in
a hurry to be there before its time.
This morning there was no sign of the ledge snail.
Perhaps the rain lashed it away to the other side
of the wall or the road. Or perhaps it was trod on
by a foot that was trying to manoeuvre a murky, muddy,
slushy stretch of no-road. Or maybe a car crushed it
to smithereens, the shell--glasslike lying in little
bits that might catch the rays of the sun at first light.