A Garden Hollow

The morning grass was cool against my paws as I ventured past the stone path into the flowerbed. Near the wooden fence, an old terracotta pot lay on its side in the dark earth, cradling a bed of dry moss and cedar mulch. I paused to examine the curve of the clay. It looked safe and shaded. With quiet, deliberate nudges, I cleared away a few rough twigs from the opening, then tucked a stray cluster of soft dried pine needles just inside the rim. Crawling into the sheltered hollow, I sat down and watched the light flicker through the fern leaves.