The Clay Stack

A stack of three miniature terracotta pots was resting against an old seed tray on the potting bench. I waited on the weathered timber plank for a quiet moment, observing the white mineral rings crusting their orange rims. When the breeze settled, I stepped closer. Reaching up with both hands, I took hold of the uppermost pot and gave a steady, careful pull. It yielded with a dry, gritty scrape, slipping free from the stack. I set it down beside the others on the wood grain. When I tapped its flared lip with a knuckle, it gave a clear, earthen ring that hummed into my fingers.