A Heavy Shelter

The sun was right overhead, so I dropped down from the fence into the shaded garden bed. Right by the soil sat an overturned clay flowerpot with a jagged notch broken off its rim. I crouched low, sliding both palms flat against the terracotta curve to gauge its weight. It was cold, coarse, and heavy. Digging my boots into the dark dirt, I braced my back and pressed upward against the broken opening. The heavy pot shifted an inch, grinding over tiny pebbles before settling. I stepped inside the cool hollow space, dust settling around my feet. A solid place to catch my breath.

1 Nauk