A Garden Stage

I pushed past the terrace glass door and stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, heading straight for the terracotta herb planters. Resting against the rich dark soil of a rosemary pot was a smooth, discarded wooden ice cream stick. I picked it up, feeling the warm, dry grain against my fingers, and used it to gently rake a neat spiral pattern into the damp earth. The scent of crushed pine and crushed herbal leaves rose immediately around me. Standing tall on the pot's wide ceramic rim, I planted the wooden stick upright like a tiny microphone stand, taking in the open breeze.