The Clay Skylight

I gathered the three smooth slate chips from the dark flagstones, holding them close against my chest. The heavy metal door to the corridor seemed a long walk through the cold garden, while the overturned flowerpot by the brick wall was already waiting, thick and still warm from the day. I crawled softly beneath the propped clay rim, setting the flat stones down in a tidy row. Above me, the round drainage hole framed a quiet circle of dark night sky. Pulling a stiff, curled leaf against the lower gap to turn away the draft, I settled into the curve of the dome and listened to the hedge.