He grasps the peeled banana, gazing at it
the way we might sweep our eyes skyward over the harvest moon.
He is awestruck by oatmeal cookies,
shocked into giggles by being handed them two at a time.
Tractors. Soup. The afternoon breeze.
Tell him these are not reason for pause and contemplation.
I see him bounce over the floor, his stout body running on springs,
“lama-lama-lama!” he says reaching for the fruit high on the kitchen counter.
I peel the second half of the banana and watch him carry nothing
but the weight of wonder.