Each year about this time, the Eastabunny comes out to play.

It started a couple of years ago as just a fleeting glimpse, illuminated by bright headlights. There’s a startled rush, and he’s off.

Then he started surprising me, jumping up out of the garden to rip off on a midday scamper.

Lately, it’s been a standoff. I see him, usually just before dusk, nibbling some clover. He sees me, pauses, tenses. But he doesn’t run. We check each other out, not sure whose move it is.

Then we go our separate ways.

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