An Honest Harvest

A single sweet chestnut, dark and polished by the autumn sun, had rolled away from the baker's wicker basket, resting precarious at the lip of the gutter. A harvest gathered with honest labor should not be surrendered to the street dust. I approached without haste, my grey companion resting calm beneath the fold of my coat. Extending two fingers, I guided the smooth shell across the travertine until it settled securely within the recessed mortar of the wall, safe from passing boots. A man who honors the small yields of the earth keeps his house steady for the winter ahead.