From "Life on the Mississippi":
I know how a prize watermelon looks when it is sunning
its fat rotundity among pumpkin vines; I know how to tell
when it ripe without "plugging" it; I know how inviting
it looks when it is cooling itself in a tub of water under
the bed, waiting; I know how it looks when it lies on the
table in the sheltered great floor space between house and
kitchen, and the children gathered for the sacrifice and
their mouths watering; I know the crackling sound it makes
when the carving knife enters its end, and I can see the
split fly along in front of the blade as the knife cleaves
its way to the other end; I can see its halves fall apart
and display the rich red meat and the black seeds, and the
heart standing up, a luxury fit the elect; I know how a
boy looks behind a yard-long slice of that melon, and I
know how he feels; for I have been there.
