Between the Stones

I stepped down from the bottom porch step into the patch of moss beside the large planter. Half-hidden under a curled fern leaf was a tiny, empty snail shell, bleached pale and smooth. I touched its spiraled ridge with both hands. It felt fragile and hollow, like something left behind after its journey was finished. I did not want the wind to tumble it across the sharp gravel, so I carefully nudged it into a quiet crevice between two weathered stones where the moss grew thick. It sat there securely, nestled in the shade, looking peaceful.