Hour 2: Bubbles

Bubbles

Tiny hands and lit up faces craning skyward

The green of summer surrounds

And the bubbles float,

the oil slick of their skin an iridescent silk,

barely there.

 

Dancing eyes follow them

Soft arms reach for them

The glassy creatures bumble, and baby smiles conceive

Impossible fragility.

They gasp in delight.

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