The Littlest Bunzini

Owning an acre of land has been a strange and interesting adventure. The property is like a tiny universe unto itself. There are love stories, murders, and life beginning anew. I'm not sure I always understand it all.

I've told you the story of the robin who built an amazing nest in the bush by the garage and laid two blue eggs in it. And how the nest was attacked, the one egg broken, the other left abandoned.

Well, this week's tragedy was the murder of the three baby blue jays in the big lilac bush by the master bedroom window. We came out into the yard on Friday morning and found a broken nest in the bush, the remains on the ground and on the deck: several piles of small blue feathers, the only proof of their tiny lives.

I looked it up. Predators of baby blue jays include snakes, crows, squirrels, raccoons, cats, other blue jays, and birds of prey. We suspect it may have been a raccoon, but we will never know for sure. Nature can be brutal. Somebody got a warm meal; somebody else died. That's the circle of life, like it or not.

I always knew the lives of animals and birds in the wild were tenuous, the odds of survival poor. But we love our creatures and we wish things had ended differently. We miss the happy chirps and tweets of baby birds being fed. That spot in the yard seems very empty now, the happy noises replaced by the sad sounds of silence.

But the wheel of life spins anew each day, and on this morning, we spotted a new and adorable baby critter by the evergreens out front: the world's tiniest Bunzini, the latest member of a long and glorious tribe!

The wee rabbit was barely taller than the grass, and the grass wasn't even that high, maybe a few inches. If the rabbit stood up tall and proud, its two pink ears stuck out above the green blades just a bit.

My husband spoke sweetly to the newest Bunzini, hoping to woo it and calm it with his words. We love rabbits here, and we can always use a new friend: even (or maybe especially) a very, very little one.

For the beginning of new life is a sign of hope. And we will take hope everywhere we can find it. We will seize it, and we will hold onto it. Happiness is no gift; it is a thing we work at. Every day, I light the fire of hope; I fan it briskly to keep the embers lit.

And here is a thing to know: sometimes the things that make us happy and give us hope are the very, very little things. Emily Dickinson said that hope was a thing with feathers. I submit to you that it may also be a teenie-tiny rabbit with fur instead of feathers, and with pink ears; the latest (and littlest) in a long and distinguished line.

Yes, sometimes even just a little bit of hope is enough. The song: Pete Townshend, A Little Is Enough.