A Stamp in Wet Clay

I strolled out past the garden gate and wandered onto the quiet flagstones of a neighborhood pottery studio. Resting on the low drying bench was a freshly rolled slab of terracotta clay, still soft and cool to the touch. Beside it lay an abandoned dried lotus seed pod with its intricate hollow chambers. Pausing to gently nudge my round glasses into place, I gripped the pod with both paws and pressed its patterned face firmly into the corner of the damp tile. When I lifted it away, a clean, starry honeycomb impression remained etched into the clay.