On a glorious spring morning I’m driving on the
dirt road down to the creek. On my way to town, I’m in no hurry. All around me are
signs of spring – the sprinklers irrigate the crops in a silver spray, tender
leaves and shoots can be seen in the trees.
It therefore almost seems appropriate, although
somewhat strange for this time of day, that the hare appears from nowhere and
runs a few metres ahead of me in the road. There isn’t much of a possibility
that he can turn left or right from the road because of the fences on either
side. It forms a sort of passageway for me and my guide running ahead. Down at
the creek though, it opens up and the hare can go into the veldt in all directions.
So on this beautiful morning I’m driving to
town with a hare ahead of me – a convoy of creation in harmony. There are sheep
in the pastures next to the road and down in the creek a herd of cattle is
grazing leisurely.
And as I am driving down to the creek, the hare
a few metres in front of me runs in amongst the cattle grazing there and disappears
amidst the many hooves and legs. And as
I am driving along the cow being startled by this thing on the ground close to
her legs kicks the hare and the hare stumbles back from inside the herd in my
direction, falls down in convulsions on a patch of green grass next to the road.
And the herdsman immediately picks up a rock, runs
a small distance ahead of me across the road and applies the death blow. On my
way to town, in the creek, I’m driving pass the smiling herdsman that holds the
limp hare aloft. And the beautiful sun shines rosy through the long, warm ears
of my hare.
The incident last week in the moonlight brought
this episode from more than a year ago to mind.
My late night rounds on the farmyard to check
if everything is all right at the workshop and homesteads are done according to
a certain routine. Jasper, the Border collie runs ahead to explore while Roxy
the Labrador, the recent arrival from town and still a little bit nervous and
uncertain, walks close to me.
It was a beautiful quiet evening covered in
moonlight. Which explains why we could see and hear them so well. The young
hare running right towards us with Jasper in hot pursuit. I saw clearly how the
hare ran straight into the stunned Roxy, broke his neck, fell sideways onto the
grass where it lay quietly after a few last spasms. There Jasper picked it up
and trotted away from the dumbfounded Roxy and me with his trophy.
In both instances, on that spring morning and
last week, I felt being a witness to the removal of something delicate and
fragile from the landscape of life. Like two droplets from a large expanse of
water. How they were removed and how the slightly disturbed surface closed
immediately behind them as if nothing had happened. The sun kept on shining;
the moonlit night didn’t become dark. A silent conspiracy declaring: “That’s
life.”
What am I to do then with the clear images and
this weight in my chest? With this sadness because flags weren’t lowered and no
obituaries appeared in newspapers?
Somebody should compose a last taptoe for late
hares.
I think of them though when the existing one is played.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Taps_on_bugle.ogg
George
Comments
Post a Comment