A Hollow Vessel

Past the corridor, the floor gave way to a broad woven rug. At its edge stood a broad glazed ceramic pot, holding a thick indoor fern. I climbed onto the smooth terracotta dish beneath it. The dry soil smelled of peat and iron. Reaching upward, I pressed both palms against the thick glazed curve of the container, feeling its cool density. A low, hollow draft stirred inside the chamber where the roots coiled. I leaned my shoulder into the curvature, listening as the ceiling fan above cast a faint, rhythmic flutter across the wide clay basin. An open hollow. Anchored and undisturbed.