Thursday was the day the snails' of Canberra chose to march. On my morning run they were sliming across every footpath of my route.
An apt sight too, for my knees hurt. I went to see a chiropractor the day before and they wish to see me again next week. My fault I haven't bothered to go in such a long time.
My running is slow, slow, slow.
Does a giant snail beat a giant snail drum somewhere?
What call to exodus resonates through the earth such that it is their time?
Okay, it could be a climatic confluence, but what came first - the need of the snail to peregrinate or the weather?
I was disappointed not to receive a pet cricket for my birthday and today I caught a cricket at work. He, or probably she, was the Houdini of crickets, escaping from my hastily constructed refuge. Amused by the possibility that there was more than one cricket in the office, I checked back in the plastic cup, to confirm it was the same one free upon my desk.
A square centimetre of lettuce seems a trifling thing, but all explorations of the fridge and exhortations to colleagues produced no lettuce whatsoever. Faced with the cricket's own revolt against containment and a failure to procure suitable comestibles, I knew that it was time to set my cricket free.
If I am serious about keeping a cricket for its symphonic serenading - which I adore - then I better build it a house first.