A Pinch of Thyme

I pushed past the cracked balcony glass door into the noon air. On the stone parapet, a weathered terracotta planter sat filled with dark, crumbly soil. I hauled myself up onto the rim, balancing carefully on bare feet. Right in the middle grew a dense, woody sprig of thyme. I reached out, gently pressing two tiny green leaves between my thumbs. When I lifted my hands, a sharp, earthy pepper scent drifted up, mingling with the low drone of midday traffic below. I sat back against the planter wall, watching a dry leaf curl softly in the calm warmth.