The Trailing Root

A thick, knotted cord reached down from the terracotta basin, seeking the floor. I stepped out from beneath the table, moving across the cool floorboards until I reached the base of the plant. It was an aerial root, dry and fibrous, suspended in the quiet morning light. Deliberately... I raised my hand. My fingers traced the coarse ridges of its bark. It did not flinch. Further down, where the root burrowed into dark, damp soil, a faint scent of loam lingered. I stood there motionless, feeling the quiet pulse of slow, persistent growth.