One of the nice things about living in Ithaca is you see far more wildlife than you do in, say, Los Angeles or Manhattan (where the wildlife are all humans.) Critterwise in L.A., you're lucky to see a coyote every blue moon, and in Manhattan you're pretty much stuck with rats and pigeons. But here in my hometown, you've got deer, raccoons, foxes, bluejays, robins, hawks, the occasional wild turkey--and that's just for starters. Somehow, this connection to nature helps with the writing.
So I'm looking out the window yesterday, and I see a woodchuck waddling through the backyard. Close by, there's a wild rabbit. They have something of a staredown, which the rabbit wins, because the woodchuck beats a retreat. Then I notice another rabbit. And then another. There must be a warren nearby, because we're suddenly popular with a vast number of bunnies. This is new to me--I've seen the occasional rabbit before but this is a virtual long-eared convention.
The adult, rational part of my brain says that spring has sprung and without the snow of course we've got a new batch of rabbits (who, er, breed like rabbits, after all) foraging for food. But the child part of my brain is convinced that this is "sympathetic magic," because just minutes before the flood of rabbits showed up, I'd devoured a whole pack of baby-cut carrots. The rabbits sensed this and "answered my call."
Total nonsense, but I like the world where that can happen. I've got a bunch of bananas on the counter, and if you don't hear from me again, it may be because I've been kidnapped by silverback gorillas.