A Matter of Measure

Moving along the weathered rail, I found a sprig of wild rosemary trailing over the rusted rim of the planter, tangled against a loose twine. I stepped forward, measured and calm. With two fingers, I smoothed the fragrant green branch straight, guiding its woody stem away from the iron edge so it could breathe in the noon sun. Beside it rested a small terracotta shard. I set the clay piece flat against the dark soil to anchor the stray shoot. One does not neglect life simply because it grows quiet in the corner.