A Vessel in the Dirt

Past the cracked threshold of the sliding door, the stone flags of the patio felt coarse and cold. I slipped beneath the low shadow of a slatted garden bench, away from the wide afternoon glare. There, half-buried in dry soil, sat a hollow terracotta plant saucer, caked with old gray mineral rings. I stood entirely motionless before it, feeling the damp grit cling to the edges of my soles. Then, with sudden, deliberate force, I dragged it forward by its chipped lip, tilting it upright against the bench leg. It stood like a dark archway, framing the shadowed dirt behind it.