Just a brief Haibun about the excitement behind my Granddaughter's eyes.
just ready to pop
I put down my book and listened to my grandaughter. The excitement was about to blow her up.
We forget how to pop like the spring bud, the crocus shoot and the grandaughter’s eyes. There is speculation that it is the translation that makes us forget the depth of joy. The speaking of it morphs to fridge art and neither is the same as the seeing. I do not tell her to settle down or that Grandpa is busy. It is spring.
as if skin and bone
is not enough