The Rabbit at Dusk

The Rabbit at Dusk

Late day in Rhinebeck, New York’s mountains
And I see a cottontail rabbit munching on grass
outside a white cabin. Cicadas buzz in the distance,
the hare’s innocence a tranquil Buddha to my unrest.
I stop and think of my mother, her blind faith.
I consider feeding the rabbit breadcrumbs,
but my father’s steadfastness feeds the animal
instead. I gaze at the beast’s unperturbed
expression, begin to give birth to an idea,
layered like winter clothes. Fertile thoughts
sprawl across the vast expanse of green, born
from a day’s blue firmament, fixed yet ever-
changing in its cloud-face. Now the full moon
spills forth from the evening sky, shining back
to me.

Mary L Westcott