A Little Wooden Splinter

I hopped along the quiet street until I reached the low wooden crates outside a fruit shop. On the lowest cedar slatted shelf, a round green grape had rolled away from its bunch, stopped awkwardly against a raised staple. I paused, watching the pale midday light glow through its translucent skin. Stepping forward with two deliberate hops, I gently nudged the smooth fruit with my chest. It rolled softly across the cedar wood, nesting quietly between two dark purple plums. With the fruit resting in a tidy row, I sat beside the cool timber, listening to the gentle hum of the street.