A Bed for the Spiral

I pushed through the patio door and walked down the flagstones toward the low wooden bench. The garden air felt crisp around my stitches, and I wanted to check on the pale snail shell I had left tucked into the moss. When I reached the brick edge, the shell was still resting safely in its green hollow. Nearby lay a small, dry acorn cap, shaped like a tiny rough cup. Kneeling down, I rolled the shell gently with both paws until it slid into the wooden cup, fitting snugly inside like a small, tidy nest.