Leaf it be

This is an old, crumpled, dried out, crunchy frangipani leaf.

It's currently in my kitchen and I'm not allowed to throw it out.

I've tried a couple of times, but LittleOne spotted it, rescued it and chastised me. Most severely. Both times.

Why can't I throw it out?

Well, you see, it goes back to the rainbomb floods, which I wrote about here. Before we realised the water coming in downstairs, we were having a normal rainy Saturday. LittleOne was transfixed by this little snail who, like its friends, had ventured out to the rainy parts of the deck to eat, groove, sing and to do whatever it is that snails do in the rain.

LittleOne was quite delighted by this snail. They are quite small, with shells that aren't much bigger than the nail on a forefinger. They're small, fragile and rather cute. 

LittleOne has stern, standing instructions to not touch snails and most other creatures (lest we accidentally hurt them or they bite us). But LittleOne got around these instructions by breaking off a frangipani leaf and putting it in the snail's path, and gently entreating it to eat. "Come on, little fella, here's a little leaf for you!"

The snail politely and repeatedly veered away from the frangipani leaf and LittleOne re-positioned the leaf back into its path tirelessly, until I broke the deadlock with some sort of distraction and lured LittleOne inside. The snail was left to its own devices and took advantage of it.

But poor LittleOne was then devastated on the next visit out on the deck some hours later to realise the snail was gone, and the frangipani leaf remained behind. 

There were tears.

Accompanied by my inadequate attempts at comfort.

LittleOne found comfort in carrying the frangipani leaf inside to await the snail's return.

And, many, many days later, this is what had to be explained to me with exasperated open palms. "It's for the snail to eat when it comes back!"

"Ohhhhh," I said, light dawning and smacking me in the face, "I see".

So now I stare at this crunchy frangipani leaf moving around the kitchen, wondering when it can finally take a jaunt into the great outside and take its place amongst its fellow leaves at the bottom of the frangipani tree. 

And maybe even meet up with the snail again.

Soon, I hope. 

Soon.

Du fond du coeur x