One of my favorite spots to walk the dogs is a fire road that winds way high up in the hills, a quiet place where hawks hunt and coyotes poop. (Something for everyone.)

Right now there's a vast field of dying, drying grasses, taller than usual thanks to this weird and wet spring. At first all I saw was the expanse of crispy gold, rattling a bit in the breeze. And then, snails, who climbed the stalks for who-knows-what reason, hundreds of them as far as the eye could see.