Bearing Witness

Just when I thought I was doomed to live the sad metaphor of my maternity garden, crippled by sun and drought, sadly whithered and leering, mocking me with its stunted growth and curled, crispy limbs, there it was, the single purple flower, the glorious testimony that life, however subtle, can endure, and my hope was renewed that perhaps this child will be as tenatious as this glorious purple flower, trumpeting its triumph beneath the gold mist of morning sun.

I rejoyced, celebrated the wonders of life, then turned to scoop up the half-eaten baby bunny Teo had left beside the garden box. How I do love a bit of irony with my oatmeal in the morning.

Thankfully Teo also brought us a live baby bunny, promptly at Patrick's 6:30 am alarm setting, who now sits comfortably in a basket beside me, awaiting his return to the nest, and who was here to greet Patrick with all of his live and intact cuteness as a much sweeter send-off to work.