Bunny

One evening, a short while ago, I finished speaking with my mother on the phone and remained at the open door to the kitchen watching the sky and the night-clouds come in. The day before I had travelled home from Geneva (via Alloa to collect my car) at one stage driving past the tens of thousands of people within the corrugated steel wall that is the outsiders view of ‘T in the Park’.

A hare, quietly, but not overly cautious, came to where I was standing, stopped momentarily in front of me (I could have reached down and stroked it) and without turning its head to look at me, went silently, over the grass and into the small wood that is on one side of the garden. (How did I know it was a hare and not a big rabbit? In the spring, I helped my young friend C. make a drawing using rocks and pebbles on the heath where we were camped by Culra bothy. To do this we collected shapes and colours from the stream, and set them down in place. It was not as we played that C. told me how she tells the difference between the two – by the colour at the tips of their ears – it was on another occasion, some time later, if for now these two moments for me sit side by side … while sometimes, though sadly to frequently, I am amazed by “the little things” I do not know).

During the conversation with my mother she happened to mention that my brother and his wife had been at ‘T in the Park’ … And I remember … And I now saw them, imagined them, in the field … on the other side of the wall as I drove past them … without looking …

Photography credits: the second, third and fifth photographs by C.

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