What do you see,
poison ivy
or me?
A little hole
home for me,
and one, two, three more!
Playing pickle ball the last morning of vacation, we saw a tiny little rabbit, newly born, or close to it, meandering through the grass. Worried there was no mother around, we debated what to do, and in doing so, we found three more, and their hidey hole.
No bigger than four inches long, with back feet an inch and a beautiful light yellow, the women wanted to save them, while another, the pragmatic of the group, mentioned that rabbits had lots of babies because they were food for others out in nature. With that, I replied that that was why I couldn't watch nature shows. It was too sad.
Later reading the Saturday paper, I read the weekly column from the military chaplain, a down-to-earth man of common sense, and belief. His column this week on two, a preemie hoping for life with all the potential it brings and an elderly woman in hospice waiting, and crying, knowing the end of life was coming.
Any connection to the baby rabbits? Probably not, except that life is made as much on luck and chance as it is on hard work and diligence. The baby lived and the woman did die. The rabbits? We saw them come and go from their home. It was all we could ask for, I guess. Safety from the world and a prayer, knowing that nature would, as always, take its course.
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