Snails

The wheels moved slowly

as if playing catch, 

arms flailing, aged two.

That's when we shut our doors. 

Life on fast-forward

metamorphosises into flowers

until dandelion seeds

are released in super slo-mo.

The youngest perfects her

Hand-eye coordination,

day-by-day, among the pollen 

in the garden of her dreams.

We leave the door ajar

so we might feel the clouds. 

But we never venture far. 

The eldest has been keeping snails. 

In a see-through closed-in space, 

with room to move and breathe - 

she dotes on them;

naming them and feeding them. 

Recently, we've been minded to

Let the breeze come in - 

the seductive scent of flowers

dancing through the rooms.

The youngest explores her garden

then we clap after dark. 

And the lid above the snails

sits a little more ajar.