We surprise one another. My entire nervous system sparks. I experience a kind of panicky joy. Is the little guy okay? Do I need to find a box and a soft blanket and drive the forty minutes to the rehab clinic? I can see it, the gas pedal, the running conversation with myself, out loud, to the bunny. It's okay, you're okay, it's just a car, go back to sleep... I force my human brain to do a better job. I recall something about baby bunnies' ears – if they're already standing up the bunny is old enough to be on its own. The parent – narrative begins: it must be a parent – I startled at few days in the garden – now I know why that big bunny was there. I lower the hose – it's still in my hand, hissing its urge for full throttle. I twist the rusty faucet shut and go back into my house. Five, seven, nine minutes. I can't wait any longer. I will myself invisible. I'm so big. The baby is gone. The baby is gone! Any creature able to get itself to safety means all is well. I wait a little while before watering. The plants don't seem to mind. All the same, wordlessly, I feel them thank me.
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