Something to Count On

It was a metal box.

I can still see it in my memory, sitting there on the front porch. The logo from the neighborhood dairy emblazoned upon the front panel. When the lid was lifted the thin metal would bow and wobble just the tiniest bit. And when the lid was dropped? There was a satisfactory clang as the top slapped the squared edges of the box and jangled back into place.

It was our milk box.

Lid open--little wobble.
An evening chore to place the empty glass bottles inside; the box's inner metal rack holding them tightly. Six bottles standing at attention.
Lid closed--clang.

Lid open--little wobble.
An early morning discovery of bottles full; foil tops pressed and sealed onto the narrow rim. A careful lift and carry to bring the newly delivered milk into the house, bottles nestled on the refrigerator's shelves.
Lid closed--clang.

Every week it was the same; empty bottles in the evening, full bottles next morning.

Fresh milk delivered.

To the top step of my porch.

In a metal box.