The clouds start to thin by late morning. Under the patio table, where a snail wandered all night, silvery lacework begins to shine.
The soft, liquid song of a robin. A snail trail glistens at the edge of the step. The neighborhood God-botherer warbles far off-key.
For the potted sunflowers from our wedding party, this garden has been a green hell, their heads shrunken and leaves skeletonized by snails.
Seven snails are spending the day disguised as burls on the mock orange. A feral cat sneaks in atop the wall, but the terrier is on patrol.