A Shiny Snail Shell

I pushed past our cracked doorway and padded down the stairs into the courtyard. Near the damp gravel edge, an empty hazelnut shell was resting crooked on a flat stone. It rocked slightly in the noon breeze. I waited until the draft settled. Reaching out with both paws, I nudged the hollow cup until it turned upright, tucked securely against a patch of green moss. It stopped wobbling. A tiny dried blossom sat right inside. I sat down on the cool stone beside it, resting my hands on my lap while everything grew quiet.