Syria and Snails
To the Editor,
I write to you today in a state of profound bewilderment, caught between the seismic shifts of global politics and the slimy upheaval happening right outside my back door. The fall of the Assad regime in Syria and the sudden explosion of snails in my garden this winter are, at first glance, unrelated events. But as I stand on my frostbitten lawn, crunching underfoot what I can only describe as gastropod rebellion, I can’t help but feel there’s some kind of connection.
Let us start with Syria. The fall of Assad marks a pivotal moment in the region's history, a collapse that brings with it hope, fear, and no small amount of uncertainty. What will rise in its place? Stability or chaos? Democracy or despair? And yet, as I ponder these weighty questions, I find myself distracted by the peculiar phenomenon of snails overtaking my garden. Is it possible that the snails are staging their own regime change? Are they emboldened by the global spirit of revolution, or is this simply a coincidence wrapped in a shell?
The parallels are too striking to ignore. Much like a toppled dictator, my once-tidy garden is now a site of anarchy. The snails move with a kind of slow determination, their silvery trails marking out territories like some slimy road map of conquest. I imagine them whispering strategies under the cover of night, each shell a tiny war room. Could they be refugees of their own kind, fleeing the collapse of some unseen mollusk empire? Or are they opportunists, capitalising on the milder winter to seize my borders unchecked?
And what of the solutions? Just as the international community debates how best to support Syria, I find myself equally stumped about how to deal with my new gastropod overlords. Should I intervene with pellets and salt — a no-fly zone for snails — or should I extend the olive branch, perhaps literally, and allow them to eat it?
Are we all, in some way, snails navigating the slippery trails of global and personal upheaval? Or am I simply overthinking a garden infestation? Either way, I shall face these challenges with hope, confusion, and possibly a raincoat.
Yours in slow-moving solidarity and global bewilderment,
A Perplexed Observer of Regimes and Slime Trails