a mountainous moment

There are some things, if you see 'em, make you smile. You can't help it. Like, yesterday I saw a couple of Quechuas leading a donkey heavily laden with straw along a dusty, rocky road. We're talking grass piled up almost as high as the donkey is tall. Not smiling yet? Well, the man is wearing a brown striped poncho, like you saw in the movie "the three amigos", a pair of faded pants, and a floppy black hat that casts a masking shadow over his eyes in the afternoon sun. He uses a staff and looks world weary and wrinkled, yet quietly dignified. Behind him trudges his wife, decked out in about five skirts "the more, the wealthier" of brightly colored designs and a plain white blouse. On her back is a bundle of sticks, presumably firewood. They walk along, this man, woman and donkey, up hill towards the hulking mass of Huascaran, the highest, snowiest mountain in Peru.

None of this is really smiling material, I know. But here's the kicker. Perched on top of all that herbiage is a tiny little boy in a bright blue vneck sweater. His dirty, weatherchapped face beams as he bounces along. You can't see his legs, of course, as they're buried deep in grass. Utter bliss.

Tell me you're not smiling.