"Rabbit, Rabbit." The
analogies are endless, the lore confusing, but vague outlines are
So it's good thing that this month begins with cold. Otherwise the wife and I would
be like magpies around the seed packets.
The winter reaches on from here, until
hares and Irish become fools and then you know there is something reckless
in the grass. Perhaps that is the time to plant potato with ceremony
and drink and that sort of happy chaos that comes with Spring.
There are some who will see order in
it. A patient mechanical plodding of one day following the next,
which is then decorated sometimes with new green, birdsong, the arrival
of insects or snow. They want the certainty of it. I want something
What that something else might be, I sometimes think, exists beyond
structure. More like running around in circles than the straight
line. This appears to suggest purposelessness. Which, I have
heard, is only derogatory if you want it to be.