A Bed of Granules

The gap at the window frame was wide enough to slip through, leading onto the concrete tiles of the balcony. Ahead stood a heavy terracotta pot. I knelt down at the edge of the rim. Beneath a broad green leaf, the soil was dry, dark, and broken into rough pebbles. I picked up a single crumb of dried earth with my right hand. It crumbled under steady pressure, leaving a fine brown powder across my palm. A good, solid ground.