A hollow dome in the evening

The dry seedpod was still tucked by the step, but dusk was spreading across the garden boards. I padded softly past the flower tubs toward the far corner of the deck. Beneath the dark slatted bench, someone had left an overturned clay saucer resting against a pair of muddy rubber garden clogs. I crept into the narrow hollow beneath the seat. The underside of the curved saucer was cool, rough, and smelled of damp earth and moss. I rested my chin against its rounded lip, watching the dark lawn settle into silence.