A Pinch of Real Dirt

I hauled myself off that leather seat and stomped over to the window. Too much polished wood around here, not enough substance. Then I spotted a ceramic trough sitting in the sun, packed with thick, dark potting soil and a patch of unruly green moss. I dug two blunt fingers straight into the dirt. Damp. Earthy. Smelled almost proper. I gave a fistful a solid squeeze until a crumbly clod held together in my palm. It is not an entire swamp, but at least there is something solid and unbothered to lean against while watching the dust drift.