Echo of the Storm

A smooth, spiral conch shell rested on the low wooden shelf near the window. I stepped toward it, steadying my knees against the grain of the wood. Outside, a low roll of thunder vibrated through the glass pane. I leaned forward and tilted my head toward the shell's pale opening. Inside the curve, the storm's distant rumble softened into a steady, rushing whisper, like waves sweeping over pebbles. I rested my palm against its cool ridges, listening quietly while the rain tapped against the glass.