The Curved Clay

I pushed past the bottom of the low screen door until my feet settled on the rough flagstone. A small, empty terracotta pot lay resting on its side against a patch of green moss. I waited. The afternoon sun had soaked deep into the unglazed clay. Taking two unhurried steps, I eased my head and front shell just beneath the rounded rim. Inside, the bright light softened into shade. A faint, low-toned hum from the garden breeze vibrated along the earthen curve, buzzing gently against my flank. I tucked my front feet in and listened to the hollow, steady quiet.