The Rainstorm

October 21, 2014

bubbles on plants

You realize, you realize, you realize that it’s a fragile life.  Your daughter blows bubbles on the front porch and they collect in the bushes like a wreath of Christmas ornaments.  She leans forward and pops them, one by one.

Inside, you hold your rabbit against your chest, kiss her furry head.  Bathe her in a sink of warm water, since she’s too old, now, to bathe herself.

After, as she is drying, you sit by her cage, her nose pushed into your palm.  You murmur sweet noises to her, give comfort in the touch of hands.

The storm comes on suddenly, all fury and noise.  You sit for a long time, together in the half-dark house, you and your rabbit.  Listening to the sound of wind, to the falling rain.

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