Tobia the snail lived in a lemon grove near the sea.
Every morning the lizards crossed the paths before he had even reached the first root. The bees flew from flower to flower. The ants seemed to know exactly where to go.
Tobia, instead, left a silver line behind him and arrived late everywhere.
âI wish I were faster,â he told a lemon leaf.
That night, a mist came up from the sea. When the Moon rose, tiny drops of dew appeared on the leaves, on the stones, and on the earth. They were not scattered at random. They formed a map.
A dotted road shone from Tobiaâs stone to the old well, then under the rosemary, then around a fallen lemon.
âFor me?â he asked.
The dew map glittered.
Tobia began to follow it. At his pace, of course. First drop. Second drop. Third. The road turned where no one else turned. It passed under a leaf where the air smelled fresh. It crossed a tunnel between two roots. It reached a place where a small new lemon flower had opened in the night.
No lizard had seen it. No bee had visited it yet.
âYou arrived first,â whispered the Moon.
Tobia laughed. He had never arrived first anywhere.
The next morning the dew was gone, but Tobia remembered the road. He showed it to an ant who had lost a crumb, then to a beetle looking for shade.
The fast animals still crossed the grove quickly. Tobia did not envy them as much.
He had learned that slowness is not always being behind. Sometimes it is the only way to read the hidden map.