Snow Drops, White Bunnies and Carnival

In the past several years, my large and rather accommodating yard has become a haven of sorts for a small number of white albino bunnies .... most of the time they appear solo or in pairs, so I've really had no idea how many were actually present. The first bunny appeared four or five years ago - all by himself, and was promptly named Harvey .... he lived the life of Riley for several years ... dancing in the moonlight with wild cottontails and seemed to adapt to his new surroundings, although I worried about his survival skills .... he was very tame, and of course his color didn't allow him to "blend in" with the environment. I was sort of pleased when he found a way to enter my garage and hunkered down for the winter. That was the year of one of the worst snow storms in recent memory ... two to three feet of snow, drifted and frozen .... we put out seed for the birds when the winter storm warning first flashed across the screen, and almost as an afterthought, we purchased several bags of sweet grass for Harvey ... Everyone, Cardinals, Harvey, Blue Jays and wild bunnies survived the rigors of winter and by spring the entire small tribe was acclimating to the leafing out of bowers and "hidey-places" we'd made for them.

Then, one morning, just as the snow drops were blooming, I walked through my "side yard" and made a gristly discovery ... there were Blue Jay and Sparrow feathers literally everywhere in the yard, and horror of all horrors, the downy soft gray fur of a wild cotton tail. I watched carefully that early spring day and saw what I had expected; new neighbors were allowing their beautiful large Tabby cat to run loose in the neighborhood. The thought of defenseless Harvey falling prey to this hunter was too much for my tender heart .... Harvey, who'd lived for two years as though he'd gone native, was never the less no match for a swift, skilled hunting cat. Even after all his freedom, he still didn't really know how to run. What to do?

After lengthy soul searching, I talked with a friend who lives with house bunnies and she agreed to take Harvey if we could catch him .... Harvey was a shoo-in ... we'd been very careful not to ever try to pet or feed him by hand, but with the aid of a large net, capture was no problem. And, when he was removed from the net, he cuddled into our arms as though the past few years had never been. He lives today, in his wonderful home, where he literally has the run of the house and enjoys watching TV from the sofa with a snack of carrot sticks and lettuce. I'm sure that he still dreams of dancing in the moonlight on sweet spring evenings, and I'm positive he tells the other bunnies all about his daring life in the wild and is their hero.

I had been so enchanted by the thought of brave Harvey's wonderful odyssey that I began to study the lore and history of rabbits and hares and found accounts of so many wonderful myths and legends. Among the loveliest representations of hares, I found the paintings of Jackie Morris, the Welsh artist, were able to simply captivate my imagination ... along with her wonderful paintings of lurchers, long dogs, and just beautiful fantasies of sight hounds. I also did a bit of online looking at the area in Wales where Jackie lives and paints, and found in the Lady Chapel of St. Davids Cathedral the most wonderful representation of the "three rabbits" archetype done in the form of a roof boss. This one, in existence since medieval times, featured three white rabbits chasing
each other about the circle, sharing ears. Jackie has also done a beautiful watercolor rendition of the three hares dancing on a field of snow drops. Wonderful, mystic ancient symbols, brought forth from the wonderful, mystic Pembrokeshire country side in which Jackie lives and paints.

A few days ago, on Shrove Tuesday, as I was searching about for some directional sign for a Mardi Gras rumination, I saw, as if by magic, a white rabbit. Sitting very calmly in yet another section of my yard ... he wasn't nearly as large as Harvey, but all white, with those pink eyes and ears, and partially camouflaged in an area still a little patchy with snow ... I moved as close as possible, and took pictures of him! Harvey junior? I don't know, but he was certainly darling .... and on the pathway to the house, there were the first few hints of blooming snow drops ... a few weeks late for Indiana, but when the snow thaws they always appear.

I didn't find the Carnival/Mardi Gras connection I was hoping for ... did find a poster of a lovely clown image from Copenhagen, but don't know if it is a Carnival symbol or not ... so no inspiration although I'm still taken with the idea of Carnival, the beautiful masks and the entire cult of masquerade ... seems it certainly must come to us from prehistory, but now is so immersed in Christian tradition that I can't find a mystic sign from the universe that it is coupled to the quarter and cross-quarter celebrations of our pagan ancestors. Still the longing in my soul to find the basic, guiding light directional meaning of Carnival, snow drops and white rabbits ... and longing for a psychic connection with the countryside of St. Davids where there are the standing stones my Uncle dreamed about ... looking for my real connection to that thin opening portal in time and meaning.

"He drinks from the empty acorn cup
the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground ---
signals the snowdrops it's time to grow"
"Jack in the Green" - Jethro Tull

Today, the Snow Drops are in full bloom as I walk through the yard ... nodding gracefully, stately and exquisite in my Indiana yard, just as they appear in Jackie's paintings of dancing hares. I'm in my office now, working on a client's web page, and behind me my large "long dog" woofs softly as he stands at the french doors .... there along the mulched pathway are more and unexpected Snow Drops, and just beyond that a bit of movement catches my eye. I look toward the bare Mulberry bush and see, not one, not two, but three white bunnies dancing around it ... for all the world like a medieval roof boss in the ceiling of an ancient cathedral in Wales ... The mother speaks to those who still listen and look for her signs ... now we yearn to know which direction she points.