If you fell down a rabbit hole, what do you think you’d find?
A little bunny in his home, all snuggled in for winter. He’d be drinking hot carrot soup and reading about Peter Rabbit. Maybe he would invite me to stay. He has lots of books lining his wall. Plus the house looks really cozy with its quilted Easter egg lamp shades and pastel wallpaper. Okay, not really.
I’ll be serious now…
I tripped. Isn’t that how all good thing begin or was that bad? I can’t keep things straight when I am three inches tall. No I did not drink any potions or eat any magic mushrooms. Nor was there some disaster. I am naturally this tall.
They call me a sprite, a pixie, a dust dervish. Usually I am about tumbling in my tumble weeds. You see I tumbled right into this train, which led me to the bumper of a car and you really don’t want to hear about that. But alas, that is another story. Besides it led me here. This bunny hole, it really isn’t bad.
It is warm and for Florida the land of sunshine and bikinis, all I have seen are sweaters and jeans. Some dead plants too. Mr. Rabbit, (He still won’t let me call him Mickge, that’s his first name. I read it on the way down.) he was talking to his friend via the thumper line and they both went on and on about the unseasonably cold weather. I thought that was what winter meant: cold. Guess that is usually not the case in Florida.
I curled up in his red blanket and had a light doze on the couch. I’m a real light sleeper. Have to be when you are tumbling about all the time. Mr. Rabbit didn’t seem to mind. He went right on jabbering away, his hind leg kicking out occasionally as his whiskers and ears went twitching first this way, then that. Seems like being in Florida is the perfect place to be since my home is under eight feet of snow. That thumper line goes coast to coast and everywhere in between.
When he was done talking Mr. Rabbit invited me to the kitchen. He has carrot drapes swirled in purple and white. They match the carrots in his old wood bin. He cut a purple one up real small, into little strips and gave it to me. Said they weren’t as sweet but were twice as nutritious. So I ate one. Boy, was he right. It tasted bitter, like tears gone sour. Being his guest, I smiled and took another bite. When one is being hospitable I have learned not to refuse the kindnesses coming my way.
Mr. Rabbit then showed me to a bed. He has an old cardboard box that once upon a time held playing cards. I don’t quite fit, but it is close enough. He stuffed the box with cotton and gave me a small blanket. My perch is on a window sill above his bed.
I sure didn’t expect to find anything down this hole but darkness and damp. Instead I’m snuggled in a home full of love even if Mr. Rabbit won’t let me call him Mickge.