Brushing my fingers against the damp trunk of an ash tree, something gummy stuck to my hand. It had the adhesion of a slug, but was wetter and slicker. I stopped myself from immediately flicking it away as a piece of unidentified yuck and looked more closely.
Perched on the whorl of my forefinger was a tiny snail no more than four millimetres long. Its shell was a glossy, pointed twist, turning five times from lip to apex. Like most snails, the shell circled clockwise.
