I noticed a lot of rabbits this summer, always chewing clover, one bloom after another, chomp, chomp, chomp. No breaks, few interruptions, except to check periodically for stalkers. Feeding, always feeding.
Animals make great messengers, and aside from my certainty that the Woodland Council declared a moratorium on rabbit consumption in honor of The Year of the Rabbit, I pondered the significance of their overwhelming presence.
Stillness. Peace. Sure, that’s my MO. “Is it, though?” they seemed to say. You’re thinking right now, leaving a door open for the Devil to walk in. It’s not always dressed in red with forked tongue and tail, spitting out the obvious slanders. No, it dresses in warm fuzzy creatures, lovebirds and coffee. It smiles and walks with you to the mountain peak. Then pushes you off the cliff, wondering “Will she make it this time?”
Your eyes spring to life, you’re back from the fall, eyes locked in a pause with that Devil. Then laughter. A handshake. A promise is made. And a path called Trust is unveiled.
