A strawberry

Jack grabs the strawberry with his chubby fist, his finger and thumb then crammed into his mouth as he bites. He makes small noises of appreciation, pauses, and then orchestrates a delicate transfer of the strawberry between his hands. He concentrates, slowly rotating it, but it falls between his legs. He spends a minute trying to retrieve it. It catches in his bib pocket for a while and then with a push, drops with a thud on the floor. He scours the ground beyond his feet as I return the strawberry to his tray. I tap it, he notices, and resumes his task.

This is bliss.