Molasses. Snail Trail. Potato.

I smile for times like these. Because I know that, while this potato was absentmindedly placed here some time ago, it has not been absentmindedly left here. Oh no. This is now its place - where it will be observed and enjoyed as it changes. And the snails who have graced it with their presence won't have even an inkling that they are a part of the special sort of art practiced by my Father.