steve’s bunny

we lost our last chicken a little over a year ago. chickens are not high maintenance but they are not low maintenance either. so given that my husband had a lot of writing to do this year, and given that he would spend much of his day mildly stressed out about squawking chickens and  predators and neighbors’ dug-up flower pots, we decided not to replace our beloved flock of golden buffs in 2017. now this year, it turns out, he may be editing a book and trying to get it into publishable condition under the watchful eye of a minneapolis editor, so 2018 is probably not a good year to be chicken farmers either. but for the last week, he has been watching out his office window, where a lone cottontail rabbit has emerged from under our deck , once each morning, to sit still in the sun for awhile, and munch a painful breakfast of spruce branches. there is nothing else green or tender or sweet or satisfying anywhere in sight. and so my non-chicken-farming husband has been strewing handfuls of arugula, tossing chunks of carrot, and scattering handfuls of sunflower seeds and granola, so that his beloved bunny does not experience too much late winter deprivation. it might be easier just to buy some more chickens.

frosted oak leaves from my driveway this morning