The critters that live in my yard, like the bunnies, who I see pretty often, and the bear, which happily I have never seen, probably don’t know that I think of their patch of green as “my yard.” They are well aware of us humans, of course, because they have to avoid us to stay alive. Also, we’re noisy, with our car engines and our loud voices. And for the bear at least we provide the occasional snack when we put our garbage out too soon, before the truck comes to take it away. But out on the mountain, tucked away in our little cove, we all live together. I like knowing that they’re there, even when I don’t see them. I have a pretty good idea that they always see me, blundering, loud human that I am.
It makes my writing space, which this time of year is my back porch, a less lonely place. When in the midst of a first draft, it’s just me and the blank page, and my characters, trying to make something new. So when I see a rabbit hop by, stopping to eat some clover, I feel like the little furry critter is endorsing my book before it’s even finished. Rabbits are not tough critics, so it’s good to have them around. The clover is always fresh at the base of my porch, and that’s all they care about. They’re a good reminder of the larger world, so I don’t get too caught up in my work, in how it’s going, or how many words I’ve written that day. No matter how the book is doing, the rabbits are still eating and still looking cute. And not one of them knows what I’m doing, or cares. I’m not sure why I like that, but I do.