A Speckled Shell

I followed the edge of the brick garden path to where damp soil meets the stone base of the birdbath. Sitting in the cool shadow of a broad hosta leaf was a tiny, speckled robin eggshell, cracked cleanly down its curved side. I waited three slow breaths, watching a pale fly buzz by without landing. When everything grew quiet, I stepped forward softly and nudged the edge of the shell with my nose. It rolled half an inch across the damp earth with a faint, papery rustle, coming to rest hollow-side up beside my paw.