I can’t stop watching. I sit by the window, binoculars in hand, journal and pen at the ready.

A small bunny sneaks under the gate into my backyard where he waits until tree leaves shade the lawn. When all is quiet, he scampers to the nearest bush to have a look around. He attempts one giant-sized leap onto the grass to feed on twigs, leaves, and remnants of kale left by Zulu, the magnificent tortoise. Only the bunny hears a tap, tap, tap of his teeth while chewing side-to-side, up-and-down. 

Oval eyes, black as night, trimmed in white, and ears half his size float to the sky, flaring. He listens for the slightest disturbance. Maybe the “caw, caw, caw” of a black crow, or the “cooOOoo-woo-woo-woooo” of a mourning dove. 

A small black nose disappears into blades of grass, then lifts and quivers with a turn of Bunny’s head, to one side then the other, while chomping morsels of green. His fuzzy coat melds the colors of nature—muted browns, black, gray, white, and a splotch of orange. 

I blink, and in a single flash, he’s gone! Now reclining on gravel, flat against rocks, blending with the earth except for a small white cloud of fur on his tail. Tall ears, pink inside, point to the sky as he listens. 

Did something spook Mr. Bunny? Oh, I see. A mourning dove, indeed, her owl-like whistle, competing for the same seeds of grass. He lies there, waiting. Aware. He crosses his back legs one over the other and rests his head low to the ground. 

A subtle breeze sighs through stillness, swaying the trees, disturbing two blackbirds that swoop to the ground. With another flash, Bunny springs toward the bush.

I grab my binoculars to have a closer look. He’s not under the bush. Not at the back gate. And not in the neighbor’s front yard, his alternate hiding place. Maybe he’s in for the night, with his belly full, to rest until morning. Good night, Mr. Bunny. Until tomorrow!

Wait! Just as I turn my head to check on Zulu, I glimpse movement. Like lightning, I see my little buddy hop out from behind the bush to an open space on gravel, where he hunkers down, ears flapping in the wind. The fur on his chest and back flutters. He stands, unstirring, rooted to the ground, watching. Waiting. A dry, brown leaf skips along the ground past him. Those tall ears fly up, reaching toward the sky, as if taking flight. When the wind picks up, the ears lie back. Bunny lingers there, still like a statue, for the longest time, and I’m growing tired. At least twenty minutes pass, maybe thirty. And here I sit, like Mr. B, watching and waiting. 

Fur wavers and ears sway. Back and forth, one and then the other, twitching, then resting. 

What are you waiting for, Mr. Bunny? There’s a whole back yard to explore. 

Oh, I see now. 

Zulu crosses his path, grazing on the lawn. Bunny is fascinated by her immense body and strong legs moving slowly, confidently, in silence. 

From where I sit behind the window, I’ve locked eyes with Bunny. He’s looking in my direction from a distance, through the blinds. We’ve made a connection.

He lifts a hind leg to scratch behind his ear, then hunches over, sinking further into the gravel. He must be tired too. 

Then, with urgency, Bunny bounces upward, ears to the sky. In my line of sight, I see Zulu sauntering past within two feet of Bunny, not a care in the world.

I look back at Bunny and he scratches the other ear. Then the other again. Thump, thump, thump. He seems to be grooming himself, licking his front feet, then wiping them over his eyes, his cheeks, and those ears! Yes, you are very handsome Mr. Bunny. 

With renewed confidence, he bolts, zigzagging across the lawn, lickety-split. And again, the wait begins. 

It’s turning dark now. I continue to marvel at this natural wonder. God’s creation in full-out motion picture. A world of splendor. Better than anything I could watch on television. I pity those who don’t observe nature, missing the details of living miracles right in front of them. Just beyond my window is the sweetest gift. 

It’s hard to peel my eyes away, but I’m getting hungry and growing more tired. So, I’ll leave you dear Bunny, to feast on the grass, digging and gnawing, relaxing in the breeze. And we’ll do this again. Maybe tomorrow.