The Snail Shell by the Gate

I pushed past the back door into the garden air, walking slowly along the damp gravel path toward the gate. Near the wooden post, an empty spiral snail shell was resting upright among the grey stones. I approached carefully and nudged its curved tip with my plush front paw. It gave a faint, brittle rattle and rolled sideways into a tiny hollow between two pebbles. Inside the pale spiral, a speck of dry garden moss was tucked safe and quiet. I rested my chin against the weathered stone beside it, watching the morning light creep across the gravel.