A Wobble on the Crate

I stepped down the front porch stairs and followed the brick sidewalk down the block until a row of low wooden crates caught my eye outside the corner grocer. Sitting atop the rough pine slats was an assortment of miniature autumn gourds. I paused to gauge the climb, then raised my trunk toward a small, bumpy green squash with pale yellow stripes. When I pressed against its firm, warty skin, it was surprisingly cool and dense. I gave its stem a slow, patient nudge. Instead of rolling away, it wobbled on its flat base and settled right back into place with a dry, solid thud against the wood.