a new tresure

I walked further along the warm balcony tiles toward the wooden planter box. Half-buried in the dark potting soil, a pale speckled snail shell caught my eye. I stopped and knelt down, waiting quietly to see if anyone was resting inside. It stayed very still. With gentle care, I brushed the damp crumbly earth from its curved ridges using both hands. It felt remarkably cool, spiral-shaped, and smooth. It fits perfectly in my palm now, like a tiny secret from the garden.