The Spiral Shell

I pushed past the porch screen into the bright afternoon and hopped onto the broad cedar handrail. Tucked against a weathered post was an empty snail shell, marked with delicate spirals of cream and chestnut. Stepping forward with quiet strides, I lowered my head and pressed the tip of my horn against its open rim. It rolled a gentle half-turn, settling upright with its spiral facing the garden. A stray draft drifted up from the lawn, whispering softly across its hollow curve. I folded my wings close and stood watching the subtle bands of color catch the noon light.