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  • Writer's pictureKirby Lee Davis

Rabbit Season!

A receding hare line...

You see here a little guy I crossed paths with. He started to scamper away as I walked up, then froze before this bush. His long ears twitched as I stopped and pulled out my camera, so I paused to study his side glance. A minute passed. I took a picture. Another minute passed. A breeze decided to hit the gas. I scratched my nose. My new friend gave me both eyes. A minute passed. I took another picture. His ears zeroed in. I girded my journeyman will. He stared. A minute passed. And then, either his mind was made up or his caution meter gave way. With a turn of his head, the bunny edged towards me, interested not in my wellbeing, clothing, or book -- which may surprise you, because it's a good book about the greatest prisoner escape of The Great War -- but instead, the grass along the way. Apparently I was no longer a concern. So I took some more pictures and went my way. Unfortunately my plans went for naught, and I don't mean that guy who often stands at the corner of Southwest Boulevard and 17th Street, but the essence of nothing. For his hare fur mixed right in with the dried twigs and grass, so my camera software just couldn't zero in on his details. Not on that cloud-filtered day, anyway. So sad...


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