Across from my brother's house are the Iris Gardens. Every June, hundreds of flowers bloom and dozens of photographers, artists, kids and dogs come to gape. The flowers are there to attract insects and fool them into playing matchmaker - moving pollen from one bloom to another.
The last thing she needed was another distraction. Already the coffee smelled burned and she hadn’t pushed the lever on the toaster down.
But the morning sang, cool and damp with dew, and he sat in the center of her garden, chewing. She should run after him, flailing her arms. Mine! Mine!
The rabbit finished a mouthful of parsley, then reached down and cut off another curly leaf. The woman in the window turned away, but he hardly noticed. He had his own breakfast to deal with.
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