The bunny peruses and pauses to determine the possible merits of staying in place on the refreshing mound of snow or bounding over towards the trees where his body could blend into the bark mulch, barely noticeable to the next backyard visitor.
Oh darn, he senses my movement through the kitchen window. Alerted, his ears at attention, he instinctively hops under a spruce tree becoming completely sheltered, covered over by the bending boughs. I refill my coffee cup, grab my camera and breath gently as if my calming presence could resonate within him, while he huddles and reassesses his next move.
As I watch and wait, I’m not entirely certain that he is still there, the low-hanging branches obscure my view. Then a twitching nose stretches out to sift through the silence for any immediate danger.
“It’s okay, the yard is safe,” I think as if I could master a mind message to a bunny!
He looks up, seemingly to lock eyes with mine, suddenly seizing the moment to hop forward, flopping his feet firmly over the remnants of snow to a circular, protected area under the lilacs. I’m certain he sends me a grateful acknowledgement before he bends over to snuffle and sort through the dirt. He’s found a feast of seeds that only yesterday were scarfed and scattered by the hungry magpies. I recall pounding on the window in an attempt to make them flee from the bird feeder hanging on the branches.