I live in the southern farmland of Massachusetts, and whenever I walk – which is at least once a day, for the sake of a bad leg – I tend to see wildlife. For many years I was trapped in Boston, where there is little in the way of nature, let alone wildlife (unless one enjoys pigeons) and moving south away from the noise and the cars has been a great source of joy in my life. Often I walk with my spouse; and we look for rabbits.
Once, when we lived further north, we counted 23 individual rabbit sightings on a single hour-long walk! We haven’t that many here – and the rabbits we used to see were Federal, on State Park land, and probably paid to be there. The ones here are wild, very wild, unusually suspicious even for rabbits. But even wildlife can grow accustomed to people, especially if those people are quiet and respectful, as my spouse and I try to be. Any rabbit in particular that we see regularly might hop away, but it’s a disdainful flight and rarely more than a few rabbit-paces. They seem to say “I was busy, and you’ve interrupted me,” and they give us the black-marble stare all rabbits have. We apologize, admire for a moment and tend to move on.
We have a naturally suspicious rabbit in our neighbor’s side yard that tends to sit up on its haunches in puzzlement when we wander by. It pushes up on its forelegs and watches us pass. Sometimes it has a friend (a partner?) with it, and both will do this little pushup maneuver. If we stand very still they’ll both look at each other once, and then return to eating grass. But as soon as we move – zip! up on the forelegs again.
Another adult rabbit, long grown used to our backyard, has been known to flop in the shade and watch us step within a few feet of it, all the while unmoving, enjoying the relative cool of a bush or tree. Then, we’re too close, and it springs away a few feet, mortified at our social transgression.
Of course looking for newborns is our favorite activity. We’ve watched one particular baby grow up into a softball-sized rabbit. It’s entirely unafraid of us – perhaps it’s had almost no contact with humans at all, and doesn’t know better yet – and endures our warnings of the street and our endearments concerning its tiny ears and nose with good grace. I saw it on the pavement nearest its favorite bush the other day and gave it a stern talking to, but I’m not sure it did any good.
The first book in the Sex Bunker Apocalypse trilogy is being edited currently – almost complete. I liken the book to a rabbit sometimes. My spouse says they’re excited to see it “out in the wild” but whenever they say that, I think of the tiny rabbit on the pavement. It’s still very close to home, but nonetheless trying something new. I’ve been an artist for my entire professional life (among other things, of course) and putting one’s creation out into the wider world is always a little fraught. Here is this tiny book-rabbit! Look at its long ears, its tiny nose. Just please don’t frighten it – you’ll need time to grow used to one another. Were that SBA more rightly resembled a lion, or grizzly bear. But SBA is about love, and trust, and patience, and so may rightly be considered a rabbit of a series.
Happy Writing,
Adam Brink
