The language of a happy two-year-old constantly surprises me, as in this haiku. I picked up the Little Tiger from nursery, and asked him about his day. His answer, as recounted in the last line of the haiku, left me chuckling all the way home, such was the surprise.
The haiga is completed with a warm shot of the boy himself from summertime; I vaguely remember the sight of sunshine, and rely on astronomical data to convince myself that the sun still exists, in the grip of late autumn. Of course, Xiaohu remains as warm as ever.
1 comment:
The language of a happy two-year-old constantly surprises me, as in this haiku. I picked up the Little Tiger from nursery, and asked him about his day. His answer, as recounted in the last line of the haiku, left me chuckling all the way home, such was the surprise.
The haiga is completed with a warm shot of the boy himself from summertime; I vaguely remember the sight of sunshine, and rely on astronomical data to convince myself that the sun still exists, in the grip of late autumn. Of course, Xiaohu remains as warm as ever.
Toodlepip,
Hobbes
Post a Comment