Artist Journal • Snails

Sometimes we learn of seemingly senseless loss. A loved one, a friend or a friend of a friend is taken from us unexpectedly in a tragic way. We struggle to wrap our minds around the event. We attempt to find the slightest scrap of evidence to support our need for things to be logical. If the evidence isn't there, we invent it. -- Lately, the rain here in the high desert had been plentiful. Roads, cars and the people inside them have been swept away in flash floods. Everything has turned from tan to lush green. It is a good year for snails. -- Snails are everywhere. They creep onto the porch, inch up tree trunks and hide under the leaves and grass. I love to watch them purposefully moving in Zen like motion in pursuit of a happy snail life. Occasionally I step on one. The crack wrenches in my gut. No matter how carefully I step, a lone unseen snail’s life ends under the weight of my misstep. -- Life is on purpose, just like the seasons are on purpose. The planet revolves and evolves in a life affirming cycle. The details appear random however, like the precise point of a lightning strike.