A Speckled Shell

The glass door to the balcony was left open just a crack, letting in the cool breeze and gentle hum of the street below. I took slow, careful waddles past the threshold, stepping out onto the grey patio tiles. Over in the corner, resting beneath a heavy terra-cotta flowerpot, lay a small, spiral snail shell. It was dry and empty, striped with pale cream and tan ribbons. I leaned close, pausing to feel how light it was when I tapped it gently with my beak. It rolled softly across the tile into the sunny patch, perfectly whole and smooth.