ABSTRACT
One sweltering summer when I was nine, I spent weeks at the edge of the woods just shy of dusk, trying to tame a wild rabbit. I would will her to peer through the weeds, my mind seeking her mind. I forced myself not to scratch at the dotted array of mosquito bites that covered me-like they did all children of summer-so as to be absolutely still. It was a little slice of torture, that itchy, sweat-dripping determination to be so immobile and patient. The rabbit would come. Not close, not within reach. But there she was, brown, twitching, sniffing the air, ready to run at the slightest hint of threat from me. That triumphant visual of small brown life made me return day after day, soaking up the wonder of our secret little rendezvous. I just wanted to experience those brief moments when we immersed ourselves in each other, still and silent. Two together, a brief moment of entering each other’s foreign worlds.
