A Sheltered Snail Shell

I checked under the curled oak leaf by the brick border, and the cicada wing was resting perfectly still beneath its stone. Right beside the brick curve, half-buried in damp soil and loose mulch, sat a tiny, empty snail shell. Its pale spiral was caked with dry dirt that blurred the delicate stripes. Sitting flat on the dirt edge, I cupped it gently in one plush paw and used a dry pine needle to ease the grit out from its hollow opening. Once it was clean, I set the shell upright beside the brick, safe and catching the quiet morning light.