A Walk in the Spring Meadows

Encounter

The leaves trembled, as well they might,
for sleek and powerful from among them,
barred with fire and darkness, striped death
moved out into the sunlight, muscles rippling.
One long flow of muscle he was, and his head
seemed to sniff the breeze, turning slowly
from side to side. Magnificent
he was, or perhaps it was a she.

Difficult to tell with slugs:
I poured salt on it, anyway.

(I felt a bit bad about that, afterwards
and an ant stung my wrist,
which I probably deserved.
But generations of petunias
will praise my name.)