Through the Fern

I stepped off the rocking acorn cap and paced up the slatted cedar tiers of the outdoor flower stall. Near the top rested a clay pot overflowing with delicate maidenhair ferns. A midday breeze parted the fronds, revealing a small green garden snail shell nestled in the dark potting soil. It was empty and bone-dry. I stepped deliberately beneath the overhanging fronds, feeling the tiny leaves brush over my shoulders. The shade was cool and scented with damp earth. Lowering my stride beside the curved spiral, I let the swaying green canopy filter the midday glare, watching the quiet street from behind the fronds.