I walk home at dusk, after classes are over for the day, & watch while murders of crows gather in the bare tree branches on my block.
Later, at 10PM or so, I go out for a smoke on the front porch with a bruised apple in my pocket. I toss it to the side of the porch, and in a minute or so, a rabbit who’s been expecting me is gorging on apple while I smoke. Occasionally she gets up on her hind legs and gives me a once-over.
Even later, if I’m up late enough, the apple is gone, and an owl hoots from somewhere up & to the right of my ice-covered porch.
I feel like I’m becoming freaking Walt Whitman.
I love you.
In the immortal words of Will Durst (a city boy) “Outside is where the car is”.
I dunno why, but I initially read “…. bruised rabbit in my pocket. I toss it to the side of the porch…..” and was horrified in a kind of PETA way.
Glad for the reread. Yanno, if you ever *do* feel the need to flee the big city, you can find rural areas that are not quite so cold and snowy.
“I feel like I’m becoming freaking Walt Whitman.”
That’s good. In a society that values slaving away at a job, money and material spending, I think it’s the time spent watching rabbits eating apples, patting your cat, watching the sun rise, and reveling in a gorgeous blue sky on a spring day that’s truly valuable – so much so than a Rolex, a Lexus or an Ipod.
You are one bright lady!
Christine
I approve of all forms of kindness to rabbits. Lynne would also concur, I’m sure. 🙂
What a sweet story. Do you have pics of the rabbit?
i’d never heard “outside is where the car is” – hysterical. thanks for that.
That’s freaking awesome. You’re like Snow Black.
Helen, this little bit of writing pleases me, put some of that tenderness and decriptive gift into a work of fiction.
What a writer you are.
Welcome to the northlands 🙂