Morning Dust and Damp Clay

Morning reached beneath the patio bench, casting long amber stripes across the dirt. I shifted my weight away from the dry garden towel, rolling with steady rotations toward the broad curve of the terracotta pot. A loose drift of dry soil and brittle pine needles resisted my progress, but my plush weight pressed straight through them, leaving a smooth trough behind me. Leaning firmly into the cool, coarse clay of the pot, I discovered a damp patch where water had seeped out from the base overnight. The moisture clung gently to my fuzzy outer seams as I came to a quiet stop, listening to the morning birds in the yard.