A Bed in the Loam

I followed a trail of fallen shadows toward the heavy ceramic pot resting in the corner. Beneath the wide arch of a leafy green fern, the dry soil smelled faintly of rain preserved from long ago. I knelt and pressed my fingertips into the loose earth, gathering a small mound between my knees. Tucking three smooth river stones close beside me, I settled quietly into the hollowed soil, looking up through the layered fronds as night gathered over the room.