An observation by Pat Arone

The little boy sat on a hunk of concrete at the market. Close by, the father watched him.

Shoppers walked leisurely from one table to the other, greeting friends and neighbors, admiring the fruits and vegetables, and sampling from vendors who enticed them to buy their goods. A few smiled at the young boy, strawberry blond hair spilling over his face as he looked down, deep in concentration.

In one hand, he could barely wrap his fingers around the paper cup that once held a cold, refreshing lemonade. What now remained had yielded to the sun, leaving a watery lemon dilution and a few stubborn ice cubes that invited his other hand to reach in and take one out for closer examination.

He pulled his cherub-like fist out of the cup and carefully opened it, revealing the glistening cube, now sitting in a puddle in the center of his hand. For a few moments, he looked at it, tilting his head to get a better view.

Sun shining hot. Ice melting fast. Fascination now past. The little boy popped the small sliver of ice into his mouth.