A Bed for the Bean

I lifted the satiny runner bean from its clay cradle before the evening cold settled into the timber. Clasping the smooth seed against my plush chest, I climbed down the potting bench post to the cool flagstones. The overturned flowerpot was waiting against the brick wall. I crawled softly beneath the propped rim into our dim shelter. Inside, the little slate spool table and velvet moss cushion rested in the quiet shadows. Moving deliberately, I set the plump bean right upon the flat wooden plant marker. It stayed level and still. Pulling the curled leaf across the entrance gap, I curled up on my green cushion to listen to the night.