A hissing, steaming radiator. He knows that it's a hot thing, and hot things are dangerous. Because they cause ouch. He knows that he's being "carefully", as he puts it, by not touching. His deference and respect are a little bit comical. But it's the noise that bewitches him, the rumblings, hissings, and poppings. He says, "What's that sound make?" He knows something powerful is happening, and he's not convinced that where he is is where the action is. "I go see it."
The moon. We all four trundled downstairs into the street to see the (full?) moon rising over the lake a few nights ago, just after I got home from work. Ada was all stirred up and dashing around -- we never just stand in the middle of the street like that. She was acting like it was fire drill day at school and she'd just eaten a whole box of Nerds. Elliot was placid in my arms. We talked in circles about how the moon was coming up and the sun had gone down -- a familiar theme for us, these days, because little boys go to sleep when the moon is up, and they play with trains when the sun is up. He liked the enormous yellow moon, but were we there yet? "I go see it."