Monday, March 16, 2009

Slug-buddy


Morning foam:  Man tells woman of giant slug or tidal wave coming her way. 


If a giant slug was lurking somewhere in your vicinity waiting to slime you would you notice?  I know I wouldn’t.  Out in the garden or on the deck, sure, that’s were you expect to see those little critters congregating.  I always watch my feet out there because to step on a slug is bad luck, (and in bare toes just plain ewwwwwie-poo.)  However a giant slug -- that comes under the category of “can’t happen”, or “Did you take your meds today?” 


OK, I know I took all my medications today, including the extra vit-C and I‘m still glimpsing, from time to time, an unusual, apparition, hovering nearby.  A giant slug looms over me looking strangely familiar and very friendly. No fears though.  After all I am not a nasturtium leaf.  My slimy friend is not looking in my direction for lunch. He must have something else in mind.


So what’s the message emanating from my ectoplasmistic buddy?  I sense a helpful aura around his tentacles. I smile in his direction and he waves his big antler-like headdress at me with glee.  I think he just wants to hang out and be a protective presence during my writing time today.  Perhaps he will have some good tips on character development and dialogue; how to de-stick yourself from uncomfortable conversations or ideas regarding how the beautiful shaded nature of the underside of a leaf gives you a new outlook on life.  


Whatever his intention I’m happy he’s here and am willing to learn.  He is big and steady and his soft feet will not disrupt my day if he should start to tap dance to Mozart as I type away.  I think I hear him humming “On the good ship Lollipop” very soto voce.  It reminds me of the licorice I have hidden in the kitchen.  Must be time for a snack.


Candy, slug buddy, mozart, writing time, it looks like a swell day is shaping up.  I like it and I like my new friend.  Small on criticism big on love.  A safe-slug.  One that it is so big he is totally impossible to step on.


© Robin Wendell 2009







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