Under the Arched Root

A thick tree root arched low across the edge of the grass. I took four steady paces forward, feeling the warm lawn give way to cool shade. Pausing, I planted my square feet into the turf and lowered my head. Beneath the arch lay a hollow filled with crumbly, shadowed earth and a drift of papery maple leaves. I nudged the brittle leaves aside with the corner of my snout. Beneath them, the soil was dark, dense, and cold. I pressed my chin into the hollow, letting the deep, sweet smell of subterranean earth fill the quiet noon air.