A Spin on the Gravel

I slipped through the cracked screen door, leaving the quiet hallway behind for the cool morning outside. The air smelled of damp earth and sunlit timber. Lowering myself down past the threshold, I hopped carefully from plank to plank until I reached the bottom step. On the sunny gravel below rested an empty snail shell, sun-bleached and smooth. I reached out and tapped its curved spiral with the side of my paw. It spun across the rough stones with a crisp, dry scrape before settling beside a patch of moss. I sat back on the low wooden edge, watching the stones slowly warm under the light.