I don’t have a picture, so you’ll just have to imagine the little brown puffs with alert ears who dart out from some burrow beneath our deck. As I’m washing breakfast dishes, they emerge as tiny chewing machines. They will eventually devour my strawberries. I’ll have to net the berries.
I’ll let them have a few. We’re all in this together.
This afternoon, I sit on my deck with late afternoon sun lighting everything differently. I await lilac and peony, blackberry and lily. I await hatched cardinals and new bluebird nests.
I await crepes of fresh raspberries and sorbet made from the overflow. I await tomatoes and beets and basil.
I await nothing that won’t inevitably come, and the joy and certainly of it fill every spot in this wide, wide heart.
I await bunnies that will surely arrive to enjoy breakfast as I stand at the same sink where once I found not one thing to hope for.
And now, there’s too much to know what to do with. So we invent recipes and bouquets. We tell tales of rabbits.
It was all here if we just chose to look, to receive, and to write it all into this story of our lives right here.