A Bed of Green Pears

I walked from the garden shed down the pavement until reaching the outdoor fruit stall at the corner grocery. On a low wooden crate, several pale green pears were resting inside a grooved cardboard divider. Each fruit sat in its own molded paper cup, steady and cool in the noon air. I paused to test the space. Instead of shifting anything, I stepped over the slatted pine lip and climbed into an empty pocket beside the central row. The molded hollow curved gently around my blocky frame, cradling my back with snug, unyielding support. The quiet murmur of the street passed by while I rested squarely among the calm green pears.