A Breath of Daylight

The quiet rooms had grown still and familiar... so I took slow, measured strides toward the cracked balcony door. Outside, the morning breeze carried the faint clatter of distant streets. In the corner, beneath a dormant potted fern, rested an old wicker planter lined with dried moss. I crept over the low rim, one cushioned foot at a time. A small, spiraled snail shell lay nestled in the woven fiber. With a gentle paw, I set the shell upright beside a fallen dry leaf. It caught the soft outdoor draft, whispering softly back to me.