Clay Dome

Wandered down off the porch steps and followed the warm stone path into the garden border. Down between the ferns, an old terracotta flowerpot was resting on its side in the mulch. Looked like a miniature amphitheater. I shuffled halfway inside to catch the shade, where the clay felt cool and smelled like dry earth. I pressed a paw against the inner curve and gave the rim a lazy tap with my knuckles. A deep, hollow clonk echoed around my ears, deep and steady like a muted bass drum. Sat back against the curve for a while, just listening to the breeze brush past the opening.