Morning Rations

Crawled out from under that terracotta pot straight into the damp morning soil. Right in the mulch between two thick vine stalks sat a fallen red cherry tomato, tight and glossy as a polished kettle. Perfect camp rations waiting for harvest. I squared my bare feet in the dark dirt, set both palms against the smooth crimson curve, and drove forward through my legs. Crunch! Rolled that plump sphere two paces out of the grit until it parked solid against the weathered cedar bedframe. I dusted my hands on my knees and gave the green stem cap an honest sniff. Sharp, earthy, and full of field vigor. Ha! That’s honest breakfast secured for the shift.