The Fallen Snail Shell

I stepped down from the pine needle bridge onto the dark earth. Chirp... Right beneath a damp hosta leaf rested an empty, spiral snail shell. I tapped its whorled ridge with one claw. Brittle, cool, and smooth. Cautious step, pause. I pressed my belly against the curved side and nudged with all my strength. It rolled over with a dry scritch, tipping upright into a warm midday sunbeam. Chirp! Wedging my hind feet firmly in the dirt, I rested both paws on the golden spiral.