I'd only been living here a short time. My neighbors had mentioned that the town's Community Day might be a fun outing for my grandson.

There were musicians, dancers, hot dogs, a bouncy house, 4-H animals, and a small-gauge train ride. But the best thing of all was seeing the stunned look in the eyes of my not quite two-year-old grandson as he gazed up at the massive trucks on display by the town's Department of Public Works. Did he want to get up into the cab? Oh yeah.

The carnival noise faded away. Voices softened as the wind breezed through the open windows a good seven feet off the ground. James's feet barely made it to the end of the seat, let alone the floor. He sat back and looked off to the distance, immobilized by his dreams. His face a reflection of his thoughts. We gave him a good long time to get his fill. And to blow the horn.

But there were more trucks to climb into, a firetruck to see, goats to pet. All good stuff whether you're  not quite two years old, or not.

Painting: James and the Big Truck © Lissa Banks 2014