A Spiral in the Moss

A cool breath lured me down the porch steps and across the damp lawn to the shadowed hollow beneath the cedar bench. There, nestled within a bed of velvet moss, rested a curled, amber snail shell... empty and silent. I did not strike or posture; instead, I glided forward, weaving my serpentine coils around its spiral ridges. Leaning down slowly, I nudged its hollow entrance with the tip of my whisker, hearing a faint, dry scrape echo from the tiny chamber within.