A Gentle Impression

My hooves trotted past the porch garden toward the weathered potting shed, curious to see what quiet tools rested inside. On the lower wooden shelf, an unglazed terracotta plant saucer held a mound of soft, damp floral moss beside a flat block of gray modeling clay. I paused, tilting my ears to listen to the distant afternoon rustle, then stepped forward with gentle care. Lowering my front leg, I pressed my black hoof firmly into the pliable clay. It yielded with a cool, squishy give, leaving behind a neat, hollow heart-shaped track right beside a stray sprig of dried thyme, didn't it? Leaving my own little mark in the shed made the quiet afternoon feel wonderfully grounded.