A Small Conch Shell

I carried the beach postcard carefully across the rug toward the wide bay window. Sitting in the middle of the painted sill was a pale, ridged conch shell that had been resting beside a small potted fern. I set the postcard flat against the warm wood and paused. Slowly, I placed both paws on the cool, spiral curve of the shell. I leaned my ear close against the wide, smooth opening. A soft, steady hum whispered back to me, just like the distant waves rolling onto pebble shores. I stayed very still, letting the gentle sound fill the quiet room.