A Snug Velvet Pocket

I crept along the bottom rim of the mosaic step as shadows lengthened across the gravel path, searching for a sheltered spot out of the cool evening draft. Beneath the overhang of an old brick planter, I spotted an upturned miniature clay pot wedged against a clump of dry velvet moss. Gripping my silver spoon securely against my chest, I tested the opening with a patient tentacle. The hollow was dry and remarkably calm. I wiggled inside, propping my spoon bowl flat across the gritty terracotta lip to keep the chilly night breeze at bay, letting out a soft, satisfied murmur.