Brittany Redd | Spiraling

All her life, Stella had been enchanted by snails. She could watch them for hours, crouched down low on the concrete. Over the years, she had grown adept at adjusting the lenses of her eyes to focus in on the delicate intricacies of their movements. She liked the way their antennas wriggled to a rhythm that felt just a little out of step with the rest of the natural world. She liked the way they undulated forward, expanding and contracting, unbothered by the speed of everything else that surrounded them. She liked their shells most of all. What a comfort it must be to carry your home on your back in such a baffling array of colors and patterns. Stella wondered if she concentrated hard enough, if she might be able to tap into that power. One afternoon, under a downpour, she lay down in a puddle among a pack of snails, reaching out her arms and moving her index fingers like antennas, matching the discordant beat of her escargatoire. Yes, that was it. She slowed her breathing, merged her limbs into one long shape, willed her muscles to contract, contract, contract. She closed her eyes, envisioned the place where flesh could become shell, curled into herself, and found home.