The smell of fall

It was important to eat the raisin-sweet oatmeal while it was still warm. Shore peeked through the cozy kitchen window. She did not see Hand bounding from their burrow -- her brother rarely walked preferring to leap in sevens, just as Hares count in sevens to set the magic.

"The morning before is here..
The dreams have informed us, come near.
The clouds gather plainly."

The mostly quiet Shore opened the cozy kitchen window, lifted the lid from the freshly cooked meal, and blew ... 

"The wind does his magic.
The nose smells the time."

Hares, even blended ones such as Hand and Shore have keenly sensitive noses. The snug burrow and the jolly-tunes of a blessed dream were no match for the smell of fall and the promise of a full belly. With a shake and a shiver to wake himself Hand pulled on his denim coveralls. The patches of many kinds stitched in place by his own hand, and that of his mother were his favorite human Pretty. He rubbed each patch to give off the smell of their memory. The pleasure. The sadness. The time of sheer gladness.

To leap full as a Hare, Hand wore no rubber boots. To feed the land the Wild nature must touch land's skin full-footed. The Blended Hare, Hand, heard his sister's chanting. He responded ... 

"The count is seven, we blend with heaven.
"The morning meal awaits, my dear."

A sweet embrace between and a prayer of thanksgiving set the table for their morning meal. Two clean spoons was all they needed, scooping warm porridge of oatmeal and raisins right from the pot.

"There is plenty to do now our bellies be filled with a fine and fitting meal," Hand tipped his long ears in a courtly bow, grateful for his sister's talents and her company.

Shore rubbed her belly and kissed Hand on his tawny cheeks, "You are right. The clouds will fill most of this morning time, and clear by noon. Tomorrow at this time Mother and Father will cross paths."

"We'll be ready!" Hand leaped in place, grabbed the now empty pot and silverware. He would do the cleaning up.


One last bit.