An English In Kentucky


















June 10th 2010    Tim Candler

    There is charm in the picture of a Little Rabbit sleeping in shade under the wide leaves of Candy Roaster Squash.   His eyes are never closed, but it is hot and a breeze through the wire fence makes him lazy enough to yawn. 

    If I were the Grey Cat I might want to chase him, so that I could eat his head and leave the remainder of a Little Rabbit on a carpet somewhere.   And I know what hunger is.  Not the hunger of a missed breakfast, rather the ache of time spent without food when food is beyond means.

      Are we, I wonder,  rapacious creatures, sawn teeth with blood on our hands, because the Little Rabbit looked at me and asked that question, and I wondered where charm comes from.  Should I be cradling the baby, counting its toes, checking its bones for flesh.

   It's reached that point here where the Bad Rabbits are bantering for space and girls.   And I think the Little Rabbit is a boy who finds calm in the Vegetable garden.   Soon he'll be too well fed to fit through the fencing, and still not big enough to defend himself.   So he will have to be servile until maybe it's his chance to rule.

    I have no clue what charm is.  Unless it's just a repeating moment that some might call weak.  

Previous    Next