#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

Sadly, the bunny did not wake up. The girls called it the baby bunny. It wasn’t a baby, more of a young bunny. The girls carried it home from the woods yesterday, the little brown bunny with brown eyes, wrapped on a sweatshirt. I met them on the trail. Met them in their distress. Charlie had chased and retrieved the bunny for them, and of course, harmed the poor bunny in the process. We put the bunny in a box. They were unwilling to leave him in the woods, lame as he was. There was no clear solution. He could not walk. They watched him. I told them if he survived the night we would go to the vet and discuss euthanasia. They agreed. But the soft creature needed, instead, a burial. I had a very busy day at my desk and needed a poem for tonight’s workshop. After lunch, they called me out, and my husband too. They had wrapped the bunny beautifully in a bright green leaf of swamp cabbage, and had gathered a sprig of rosemary. Near the garden, a deep and narrow hole was dug. And so we improvised a lovely ritual. I played the recording of my son playing his flute. We said a few words each, kneeling at the hole. A brief and beautiful life was honored. Charlie scratched up a good piece of ground nearby and sprawled in it to listen. Suzi sat alert and concerned, as usual. For many reasons, we all needed this. To let go, to move on from something loved and lost is helped by ritual. As far as Charlie is concerned, the girls have forgiven him. Now they see when he brought the bunny, he was bringing them a gift.