Pots. They might be supporting.
Or too full.
They may perch.
Or be elevated.
Or be mysteriously and inexplicably placed.
They may be sunken.
They may have had a previous existence in lighting.
They may have sat too long.
They may be a forest in miniature.
They are tangible evidence of plantaholism.
They keep thugs at bay.
They collect litter.
They keep dogs from walking through places they shouldn't. Sometimes.
In a pinch, they make a side table.
They are evidence of haste.
They shade the vulnerable.
They prop open gates.
They are plant stands.
They emphasize the architectural form.
But also a place to be born.
Some people have too many.
Sometimes they are not pots at all.
They can be buddies.
They are perfect for Cycads.
They fill voids.
Sometimes, they are even beautiful.