It was in the early spring, when the promise of green aliveness could be felt but not yet seen. Fog rose from the meadows and hovered over the tender grass. On such a morning, having newly arrived in the area, I went for a walk on a wooded path.
The entrance to the woods seems magical to me. A long footpath wanders through the trees, down the hill and disappears around a bend. The first time I walked it, my eyes were drawn to the attractive wooden sign at the top carved with the word 'Neversfelde.'
On the way, I encountered a large white snail making its way slowly across the forest floor. Bending to my knees for a closer look, it somehow h