COP 27
We walk up to the back of the garden each night, with our torches on, walking along the long planks I laid at the top of the garden to stop us sinking into to the squelch of the sodden grass and mud.
There, perched above the garden pond which we made out of the old plastic guinea pig cage, which is now full of dead watercress, sits the rabbit cage. The rabbits used to live in Charlotte’s room, which meant she was roomless for quite some time as they took up so much space and made so much noise and, to be honest, were stinky.
Now they have their own home in the garden; a delux home with an overhanging roof, a bedroom, sitting room and toilet. When we reach the hutch, they are often staring out at us, seemingly interested in what we are up to. Panicking about foxes, I have put locks on the various doors which is annoying as we often forget to take the keys up with us and have to go back to the house.
Yesterday it was so windy and rainy that they spent the day with their cage closed up against the elements but did not seem to mind. I have a feeling they are happy there.
I remember that same wind when I was at the station in the morning. It was making the railway cables moan as if in some kind of torment. My clothes rattled about me but the day was so warm. It was slightly exhilarating, just as the waves of rain flinging themselves in the orange light of the road were the night before, when I got home late. I worry though that this is almost a poisoned wind; so much hotter than it should be. Despite its heat I shiver a little with fear.
(Photo's: BonBon and Pumpkin's rabbit hutch and Cardross Station. November 2022)
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