A Patch of Red Shade

I stepped off the warm flagstones and ducked into the hollow of an overturned terracotta pot. Inside, the curve of thick red clay cut the midday heat in half, throwing a cool half-circle of shadow over my boots. At the far end, the drainage hole let in a clean, focused beam of white light, framing the garden border like a surveyor's glass. I set one hand against the coarse earthenware wall, eased my stance, and let the quiet settle. Out on open ground, a sensible traveler takes his rest where the terrain offers it. Five steady breaths, then back to the line.