A willing suspension
of everything,
deliberate slow reach
daring, cautious quest
rising skyward from some restless molecule
within —
if you’re lucky
the grass prickles your back
clover tickles your heels
summer earth pillows your head
if you’re good at it
you seem mere debris
senseless —
the fine art of watching clouds
is not quickly attained.
Practice.
It’s a two-rabbit morning
the clover fresh and sweet
crisped by morning rain
the neighbors can’t compete.
My back yard’s never treated
as lawn, it’s a disgrace
but as alfresco salad
it’s a four-star eating place.
So I allow them peaceful dining
so grossly appetited
until they eye my garden
when they are promptly disinvited.
Look — there! The monster maw! The original daily beast!
What do you mean you can’t see him? He’s there just right of center. Surely you can’t miss those in-your-face ears sticking up in the middle of the clover patch. Again and again he starts my day taunting me with those ears. “Here I am!” he advertises, knowing full well his four feet can move a lot faster than my two.
Still can’t see him? How about a close-up?
No, not the c-word! Cute does not apply! Voracious, yes. Destructive, yes. Pestilent, yes. Not cute.
Despite my bipedal disadvantage, I go out every morning, staggering under the weight of my coffee mug, bleary-eyed and bed-headed, determined to win possession of my own garden. My victories are transient.
This year there are three of them, one smaller than the other two. Papa, Mama and Junior? Chilling thought.
One was digging ferociously in the middle of the yard the other morning, stopping occasionally to shake the rain from his fur. Yes, digging in the gooey soaked Indiana clay. In the middle of my yard. Is Mama in a family way? Does she need a cozy nursery? NIMBY, rabbit!
I think I hear you, dear reader: You’re obsessing, Maureen! Get a grip! Of course I’m obsessing! Do you know how expensive plants are? Do you know that these four-legged bottomless pits eat their weight in ANYTHING every five minutes? Obsession is the only rational approach.
Aside from the expense, however, is the value of a garden. It means something. As my friend Will S. would say, he who steals my purse steals trash, but he who destroys my garden makes me poor indeed.
Farmer McGregor was not the villain.
Oddments 