What is that white blur? A hobbitt? A brillig? An illusion? Nope there it goes again. A bunny! I see it is wearing a waistcoat. Not sure about trousers. Fairfield, Charlie's stuffed buddy with red felt overalls/no shirt, would be pleased.
Oh. There it goes. Darting in and out while I finish weeding behind the teak bench in the corner of my yard. A figment of my overactive imagination? Delusional from the über-diet I am following coupled with way too much yard work? I think not.
Bailey looks up from lapping water from the cement clam shell bird bath over by her bushes. The place where she cools down in the summer curling up on the damp pine mulch in the shady corner between the house and the back porch steps. She sees it too. Racing over to check for herself. The ruff of fur on her back standing at attention as she gallops in my direction. Delirious with sniffing. Bellowing as only she can do. Punctuating the neighborhood mid-day quiet with her yelps of excitement.
Whoosh. That speedy bastard must be wearing Nikes. Nikes and a colorful club-heart-spade-diamond waistcoat. Behind the bush. Under the car. Into the burn pile where I have been casting twigs, branches and last summer's now dry hosta spikes.
The perpetual Alice, I have been chasing the white rabbit for most of my life. That ... and yo-yo dieting oft appearing smaller than my normal self and in a spin of the head towering. Looming large. Literally and figuratively. Nonsensical adventures to most. But not me. Entirely logical in that life-in-chapters kind of way that defines my journey. Illustrating my ability to adapt regardless. Boredom propelling me to explore the unknown. But once. Just once. I'd like to have a talk-to with that rabbit, or whatever the madcap creature is who is in such a hurry darting about furiously upsetting the calm. Luring me. Hypnotizing, indeed. Distracting little bugger.
What the hell? Bailey and I discovered what seems like a rabbit den or a cave for some other species. Next to the Invisible Fence wire so she is barking but keeping a safe few feet away. Yes. The gaping holes between the roots of the 40 foot pine which along with its mates borders my yard. [Note to self: Have tree men check this out pronto so this graceful Maine evergreen doesn't topple onto my house in the next Nor'easter. That would be a bummer of major proportions.] The soggy ground giving way to a portal. [Better call the exterminator with the Have-a-Heart cage, too.]
Should I follow the white blur? I have been doing the math for this past week. Putting my strategy, my plans in perspective. The next steps on the highway c'est moi. Not sure it adds up. But, as queen of my very own (albeit tiny) kingdom, I will follow my heart. My head is sure to join us. The disembodied smile of Tikka, my neighbor's pewter cat with chartreuse eyes gazes through me. What if my head doesn't? It most assuredly should. Or, off with it altogether.
So its settled. Onward and upward. Confusion and doubt be gone with you. Too much introspection. I'm mad as a hatter. And fifty-nine times as zany. But I am baffled nonetheless. Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Tip your porcelain teacup to jabberwocky ... I'm off through the looking glass! And to devour that tray of pecan tarts cooling on the counter. Cheers!