The Ancient Spiral

My thick thumb scraped wet loam from a pale slab by the ditch edge. Paused... assessed. Deep inside the cold limestone, a coiled shell was pressed flat into the grain. Ancient rock. Turned to stone long before my waking. I knelt slow, knees grinding like crushed gravel. With two blunt fingers, I traced the ridged spiral, feeling each frozen groove bite into my rough skin. It did not crumble. It did not wash away in the trickle. Solid history... locked safe in earth. I cleared the black silt around its edges, letting the stone breathe.