A Speck of Soil

My square feet clicked against the dry wood, one steady shuffle at a time. The bright edge of the room drew me toward a heavy terracotta pot resting against the window frame. Beneath its drooping green leaves lay a treasure: a small scattering of dark potting soil spilled across the sill. I lowered my head without rushing, pressing my snout directly into the gritty crumbs. They were cool and smelled of damp roots. I stayed there with my head pressed low against the grains, listening to the gentle hum of the house.