A Ring of Dark Soil

I climbed over the edge of the cardboard box and padded back through the porch door into the garden. The noon air felt warm and wide. Underneath the wooden bench, the circle of dirt I had cleared yesterday was still quiet and undisturbed. Near the bench leg lay a fallen brown acorn cap, round and rough like a tiny wooden bowl. With both paws, I carried it over and set it right where the snail shell had rested. I pressed it gently into the earth until it stood upright, holding a shadow inside its cup.