Peter Barbour loves to write. He is a retired physician, former Neurologist, living in Allentown, PA and has been writing stories for over 30 years. Peter is an active outdoors person, and believes that what comes from the heart goes to the heart.
On a Summer’s Day
At the top of the hill the grass was deep, knee high and deeper in some spots. Joe waded through the grass as it bent in the warm summer breeze. The air was dry, not terribly hot or humid as it would become later in the day. He could smell the dryness of the grass and the earth below. Small birds, hopping about in the grass eating insects and seeds, took flight as he waded through. Joe found a spot that looked comfortable, took off his backpack, placed it on the ground, and laid down. He placed his head on his backpack and enjoyed the sun’s warmth as he lay there. It was a nice respite after walking several hours through the morning. He looked up at the clouds as they moved from horizon to horizon high above him and observed their white billowing caps gray cottony patterns, mounted on darker gray bottoms as they floated in a sea of deep azure blue. He imagined the clouds were a flotilla of great ships on a mission to the other side of the earth. Intermittently, the clouds obscured the sun whose rays penetrated gaps in the clouds’ complex webs and poked through like long poles extending to the earth then disappearing as the clouds moved by. As Joe watched the ballet above him, he listened to the birds chirping and the hum of insects that swirled around him, but, thankfully, left him alone.
As Joe enjoyed his reverie, a rabbit suddenly appeared at his feet. Joe held his breath and didn’t move. The rabbit stood there. It’s soft fuzzy fur stood erect, long pink ears rotated forward listening, its nose twitched testing the air, and dark curious eyes looked at Joe. Joe let his breath out slowly and took another breath evenly measured moving as little as possible. The rabbit rocked back, sat up, scratched its face with its fore paws, looked around, and then back at Joe. The rabbit’s eyes met Joe’s eyes.
‘What is the rabbit thinking?’ Joe wondered. He had an urge to touch the rabbit. ‘No. If I move, the rabbit will startle and hop away. I’ll enjoy this interaction as it is and not disturb this moment.’
High above, a hawk circled, wings extended, as it rode the thermals and surveyed the ground. The hawk then folded its wings and dropped like a stone. There was a crack, like a bat striking a ball. The hawk gripped the rabbit with its sharp talons, then swept it into the air. Joe screamed and jumped up. He reached for the hawk. The bird was startled by Joe’s movement, but it was quickly beyond Joe’s reach. The hawk maintained its grip on the rabbit and swiftly took off to the protection of its nest, its quarry secure.
Joe stood and watched the hawk disappear above the trees and into the woods that stretched out below the hill. His heart raced, and he breathed rapidly as he stood there shocked by the sudden violence and saddened by the ill fortune of the rabbit. He wondered whether the rabbit would still be alive if he had not been there. Had he been a part of nature or interfered with it. The tranquility of this place was spoiled. He no longer wanted to stay. He picked up his backpack, put it over his shoulder, and walked on.