A Hollow Beneath Clay

I pushed through the kitchen screen door onto the sunny wooden deck to get some fresh air. Near the weathered railing lay a large terracotta pot, tipped over on its side amidst spilled dry potting soil. I leaned forward cautiously, tilting my head toward the shadowy red cavern inside. A light gust of wind brushed past my visor and whistled softly against the clay rim. I stood my ground, breathing a low, hollow hum directly into the belly of the pot. The deep vibration resonated back, ringing through the dry earthen curve. Reaching out with my black foot, I gave the terracotta edge a gentle tap, shaking loose a tiny shower of dried soil.