A hollow shell

I stepped down from the porch edge into the garden dirt. Under the heavy, rustling shade of a hydrangea bush, something pale lay half-buried in dry mulch. I knelt quietly. It was an empty snail shell, coiled and paper-thin. Slowly, I lifted it with both paws. When I held the open spiral against the side of my face, a faint, breezy hollow sound rose from inside, like a whisper holding its breath.