Angels of the Morning

Warning: this post includes a sad animal story; the tender-hearted may wish to enjoy the photo and skip the tale . . .

The morning light was spectacular, and it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. We didn't have anywhere we had to be in a hurry, so I was able to start my day in just about my favorite way possible, which is to say, sitting in the side yard with a cup of coffee and a book and my camera, watching the hummingbirds cavort in the butterfly garden.

They are like green jewels, or maybe angels. And they are very busy this time of year, with so many big red monarda blooms to visit, and so little time. I was sort of reading a book, but mostly, I was watching the birds. It was a delightful time.

But such moments seldom last. My husband had been in the front yard checking for rabbits, and I saw him walking slowly toward me; saw the grim, drawn, sad look on his face. He had discovered the body of a bunny that had been hit and killed on the road in front of our house sometime in the past day. He brought the bunny's body to me, laid out on one of the plastic trays we use around the yard.

This is one of the parts of summer that I hate. My first actual task of the day was to examine the deceased bunny to see if we could determine which one it might be. Might it be Spot? Or Stripe? Or - God forbid - Mini Bunzini? Or perhaps some other, unknown and unnamed rabbit, simply passing through?

It was a very sad time, and we weren't even exactly sure who we were grieving for. Even as much as we adore and watch and care for and photograph these rabbits, identifying the body post-mortem is nearly impossible. You look at it, and it looks like . . . a rabbit. Only without the spark of life that makes it shine, that tells you who it is.

My husband said he didn't think it was Mini Bunzini, but I'm not sure if that was just the voice of hope speaking. We knew by its size that it clearly wasn't one of the latest little Micro Buns. At least, there was that.

And then we did what was necessary, as we always do. With all due fanfare, sadness, and a few quiet words, I commended the rabbit back to God, and thanked Him for its life; and then I dug a hole and buried it under the shade of one of the little trees in Gremlin's Meadow.

This is one of the divisions of labor we have come up with in our marriage: my husband is in charge of taking care of the live rabbits; I am in charge of their funeral arrangements. Yeah, I know: sometimes, it sucks being me.

But still, it wasn't as bad as last summer, when the rabbit we found hit by a car along the road was still ALIVE when we found it. I captured the rabbit gently in a towel and called the local wildlife rescue folks, but before they could even return my call, the poor creature died in my arms. That destroyed me for days; absolute days. I buried it in the meadow. (Do you get the feeling that Gremlin's Meadow is turning into a rather crowded place?)

But you know, life turns on a dime. Life and death exist in the same space; they are parts of the same wheel or circle that endlessly spins. And later in the day, we got to see the other side of that wheel. The same squirrel that we watched the other evening frantically building a nest in a tree by the deck was back again. And she was acting like a tiny beaver, trimming off branches and leaves, dragging them down to the crook of the tree.

There will be little squirrels in that notch soon; I just know it, and I can't wait. I will be watching, with camera. And hoping every hope for those babies, and helping out where I can, and taking lots of pictures, if they'll let me. And grieving over them, if there is good cause. But loving them, loving each and every one, the way I always do.

The song to accompany this image and these stories of the angels of my yard is a favorite one from many years ago: Juice Newton, with Angel of the Morning.

P.S. Many apologies, dear readers, for the sorrows of today's tale; but sorrow accompanies love. Still, the joys love brings are well worth the price of its sorrows. I vote to choose LOVE every single time. And I hope you will too.