Oh my little bunnies.
Each spring I begin the watch.
Eager for the whisper of a whisker.
Sitting at my easel I have two birdfeeders.
And underneath them
where the seed hulls collect
grows a thick matte of clover.
This is where I usually see the first babies hop into view.
As the weeks grew from spring into early summer
with nary a twitch I began to worry
that it might mean no bunnies this year.
One sparking afternoon
at the tail end of May
I went to the end of the garden path
to pick a posie of herbs.
Just there
tucked in the shade of the arbor
in between the morning glory trumpets
was a nest.
Five tiny furballs
cuddled in a gently snoring mound of love.
Alice decided to celebrate with tea.
And I did catch this one
by a whisker.