A Fine Fit

Took a slow stroll past the squash vines and spotted an upturned wooden bushel crate resting in the dirt. Looked about the right height for taking the weight off. Tucked that ear of corn safe under one arm, reached out with both hands, and cleared away a scattering of dried leaves and gravel from the top slats. Gave the wood a firm tap with my knuckles—sturdy enough to hold. Sat myself right down with my feet in the soft earth, resting my elbows on my knees to watch the morning breeze rattle through the bean poles. A porch would be grand, but this crate does the trick just fine.