A Tidy Row of Honey Jars

I followed the sweet scent of beeswax along the pavement to the neighbourhood weekend market. Resting on a low wooden crate by a farm stall were three small hexagonal jars of clear golden honey. The jar on the left had drifted crookedly toward the bare timber edge, away from its woven jute mat. I paused on the paving stones to wait for a quiet spell between passersby. Then, stepping up to the crate, I placed both plush paws against the faceted glass and nudged it steadily backward. It slid safely onto the mat, lining up evenly with the others in the sun.