The banana was her make-believe telephone until snack time and then it sweetly filled her tum.
The bananas were the sweetness in the day, a bunch of friends plus a bunch of bananas, some banter and a joke or two.
Penelope imagined herself looking up at a banana tree, at those gargantuan leaves and the bananas that grow in those clustered bunches. She imagined it as an orchard the same as the one she would sneak into on those long summer afternoons and rest there with a book, looking up at the apples taking on their rosy blush. She felt her fingers curl around the yellow fruit in her hand that had travelled so far to be sitting in the shop around the corner form her house, there when she walked by feeling hungry. It was as if it had brought a little sunshine with it and perhaps, as she ate, it would put a little sunshine in her too.
Upon the couch sits a broad yellow grin of the deepest gold; Emily wraps her fingers around the banana as carefully as one might nurture a butterfly, as if it were a thing to marvel. Then, Sierra watches her grin grow to match the sweet fruit, her eyes alive with quirky mirth. An idea was brewing inside that young brain, something dancing to its own beautiful chaotic rhythm.
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