Maya Crosses the Garden

Maya was a snail.

A very small snail. A very slow snail.

And she thought this was just fine.

Today, Maya was crossing the vegetable garden. The dirt was warm under her belly. The sun sat big and yellow above the tomato poles. She didn't know who she would meet.

She didn't mind.

Shhhhhhh. That was the sound Maya made, sliding over the earth. Shhhhhhh.

The first thing Maya found was a strawberry.

It was red and fat and sitting right there in the dirt, half-hidden under a leaf like it was sleeping. Maya slid up close. She touched it with one soft horn.

The strawberry was warm from the sun.

Maya took one tiny bite. Just one. It was so sweet her whole body wiggled.

She left the rest for someone else and kept going.

Shhhhhhh.

Under the bean arch, it was cool and green. Vines twisted up and over like a tunnel. Little beans hung down everywhere — long and thin, like fingers pointing at the ground.

Maya slid along a vine. She went up. She went sideways. A bean brushed against her shell.

And there — sitting on a leaf, very still — was a ladybug.

The ladybug had seven spots. Maya counted them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. The ladybug opened her wings, and underneath they were dark and secret, like the inside of a closed hand.

Then she shut them again.

"Hello," said Maya.

The ladybug cleaned her face with her two front legs. That was her way of saying hello back.

They sat together for a while in the cool green tunnel. Not talking. Just sitting. Then Maya slid on.

Shhhhhhh.

Past the beans. Past the peppers. Past the big zucchini leaves that were rough and tickly on her belly.

Now Maya came to the watering can.

It was silver and old and tipped on its side in the dirt. A puddle had leaked out and made the soil dark and soft. Maya slid right through the puddle. Cool, cool water on her belly after all that warm sun.

She went inside the watering can.

It was like a cave in there. Dark and hollow and it smelled like rain. Her own sliding sound echoed. Shhhhhhh-shhhh-shhhhh. Three Mayas! She liked that.

A single drop of water fell from above and landed — plop — right on her shell.

Maya backed out, her shell dripping, and the sunlight hit the water drop and it flashed like a tiny star sitting right on top of her.

At the far edge of the garden, the dirt ended and the grass began. Tall grass. To Maya it looked like a forest.

And there, where the dirt met the grass, was a worm.

The worm was pulling himself out of the ground, stretching long, then scrunching short, then stretching long again. It was the silliest walk Maya had ever seen.

She watched.

The worm scrunched up so tight he was almost a ball. Then — boing — he stretched out SO long he flopped right over sideways into the grass and disappeared.

Maya blinked.

The worm popped back up.

Maya blinked again.

They looked at each other — the snail with the water star on her shell, and the worm with dirt on his nose.

The worm scrunched down again. Maya waited. Boing — over he went.

She felt a laugh in her belly.

The sun was lower now. Everything in the garden had turned gold. The tomato poles made long shadows. The strawberry leaf fluttered. Somewhere under the beans, a ladybug was cleaning her face.

Maya slid into the tall grass. It brushed her shell on both sides. Cool and soft and whispery.

She didn't know what she would find next.

She didn't mind.

Shhhhhhh.