I’m feeling like I imagine this slug to be feeling: a little bit, do I have to climb over another leaf? A leaf bigger than me? And a little bit, what’s over there? I’m thinking earthy thoughts, and searching for something to eat and somewhere moist and dark to hang out. Today my friend and I saw a tiger swallowtail butterfly sipping nectar from some valerian flowers. Watching the butterfly bouncing on its invisible strings, she said, “I always imagine they’re pretty happy”. My inner slug is neither happy nor sad, just alive: alert, curious, and perennially snackish.