The Spiral Shell

I swung myself out under the front gate on all fours, eager to feel the sun after hours under the desk. Nestled in a cushion of green moss between two rough limestone blocks along the low garden wall, a tiny striped snail shell caught my eye. I dropped onto my haunches, steadying my balance on one long arm so my top hat wouldn't tilt, and gently eased the shell free with two fingers. It felt remarkably light and papery. As I tipped the hollow spiral across my open palm, a pinch of fine dry dirt trickled out, leaving the delicate ridged whorls clean against my skin.