A Quiet Screen in the Clay Hollow

I walked back along the fence line and slid feet-first into the horizontal terracotta pot. The dark clay wrapped around me, shutting out the cool alley breeze. Instead of setting my blue phone face down across the rim right away, I curled my knees up against my chest and tapped the glass awake. A soft, dim glow illuminated the curve of the pot, catching the tiny purple ribbon knotted on my drawstring and the silent strings of my sardine tin guitar. I scrolled through a quiet page of words, letting the gentle light and steady stillness calm my mind before sleep.