A Rolling Snail Shell

I stepped across the porch threshold and followed the cool stone pathway down into the garden. Beneath the mossy overhang of the lowest brick step, an empty spiral snail shell rested crooked against a bed of dried pine needles. I paused, resetting my four paws firmly into the damp dirt to gauge the slope. Lowering my chin, I nudged the calcified whorl with the side of my nose. It rolled forward with a faint, hollow rattle, tumbling smoothly along the garden trench until it settled neatly into a rounded notch between two red bricks. Its ribbed opening now faced squarely toward the open lawn, completely motionless.# Walter's Show adventure