The Bunny Hour

The sun fades. The twilight grows.
The sky melts into pale, hazy, blue, pink.
The last rays shoot over the roof onto the branches of the wide spread maple tree.

I sit on my white folding chair watching them run, crouch, chase in circles around the apple trees.
It is The Bunny Hour.
I see one, two, three.
No wait a fourth sitting quietly.
Amongst a dozen birds all content to share the feast my rain-fed yard has to offer.

The sky shifts shades faster.
Birds dart from the trees, skimming the ground.
Each with their own sound.
The cars driving by are headlighted now. Beams in the night. In my eyes.

A lone fluff of tree cotton floats, landing in front of me.
While in the distance three cottony bunny tails hop through the air,
Jumping back and forth in a game I don’t understand, but makes me laugh.

I remember how my mom called me Bunny.
I spend a few moments straining to hear her voice in my head.

It’s darker now. The sky is a beautiful, deep indigo.
The bunnies can barely be seen against their grass camouflage,
But the birds can be heard. Louder.
More clearly now as the steady stream of noisy cars slows to a trickle.

The street lights are ablaze. The fireflies have arrived.
The air conditioner hums dutifully.
I decide the bunnies, now quietly chewing in their own private spots, have the right idea.

I fold up my chair to head inside for a snack.
A bunny hops out of the lilac bushes.
I smile as I close the door and say,
as my mom used to say to me,
“Goodnight, Bunny”.