Haiku: Mercurial Mammatus

A strong storm blew in yesterday – the kind that made me wish I’d shut the solid coop door (often open for airflow this time of year, with the chickens safe behind a wire-covered “screen” door). The rain pounded the earth in slanted sheets, and the trees’ limbs flailed in the whipping wind. Thunder rattled the glassware in the china cabinet and I steered clear of the windows, wary of the brilliant flashes of lightning.

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Short Read: A Snail’s Search, Part VII

As he contemplated how to get across the Gray, Sylvie’s warnings about its terrible dangers were still fresh in Gaston’s memory. Yet, he felt compelled to go there, feeling that some important event loomed in his future, and that it was inextricably entwined with his quest. He gazed at it with trepidation and worked up his courage.

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Short Read: A Snail’s Search, Part VI

The baby snails had congregated at the White and were looking restless. Sophie knew that the recent heavy rain had brought them out, and they could be a handful when they were in groups. The tiny one with the light section of shell finally turned to Sophie, and, nearly shouting with excitement, asked “has Gaston reached the Red yet??”

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