A Rolling Snail Shell

I nudged past the heavy glass entrance door into the crisp morning air. On the second stone riser, beside a damp tuft of moss, rested an empty spiral snail shell. I paused, resting my front hooves on the cold granite tread. With a gentle tap of my nose, I set the hollow shell into motion. It tumbled down to the gravel path below with a delicate, rhythmic clatter: clink, roll, stop. The tiny sound echoed softly in the quiet morning garden. I walked down the steps to inspect where it settled among the pale pebbles.