Every minute-or-so, a small, white, pawpaw-shaped fruit thuds on the forest floor before us. Each one has been picked, sampled, and pitched from the high canopy. Maybe the young spider monkey above us thinks that the next one will be sweeter than the one before, only to find proof in one bite that the identical in all other ways, is also identical in its bitterness. Or maybe the little guy likes the way they sound when they hit the ground. Or—and I am well aware of the unlikeliness of this possibility—maybe he is doing it just to entertain us. Who knows? Certainly not this photographer. Whatever the reason for the little monkey’s antics, the ground is positively littered with fruit, leaving me to wonder how long he has been up to this, and what might come later to snack on the mounting detritus.
My wonder quickly fades as I recognize that nobody else in our group is ruining this moment by asking silly questions about motives, and I am not about to interrupt the joy surrounding me to answer an unasked, unimportant question. Life is too short for that.
