A Solid Vine

I moved from the low shelf toward the broad wooden windowsill. Midday sun warmed the ledge. Right at the edge sat a heavy terracotta pot, its green fronds spilling outward like a dense canopy. I approached quietly, resting one knuckle against the rough, porous clay. Warm and unyielding. Next to it, a thick braided cotton cord hung from the curtain pull. I reached out, curling my fingers around the textured fibers, and gave a steady, deliberate tug. It held my pull without swaying much. Strong enough to support a climb later. I settled my weight onto the sill, watching the leaves catch the breeze.