A Gourd in the Groove

I stepped onto the low wooden pallet outside the corner grocer, where a shallow crate of miniature autumn gourds rested by the door. Among the smooth orange ones, a tiny ribbed white gourd sat tipped awkwardly on its side. Moving without rush, I walked right up to the slatted pine edge and lowered my head. I pressed the velvet tip of my muzzle against its dry, spiraled stem, easing it forward with a patient push. It rolled slowly along the curved groove of a neighboring pumpkin, wobble by wobble, until its heavy base dropped into a cozy hollow between two larger squash. It settled upright with a dull, satisfying tap, its pale ridges lining up neatly.