Smoke and rabbits

There is something about the smell of wood smoke in the morning.  The still quiet crackle of the fire against the backdrop of birdsong and the voices of a village awakening.  I think it must be hard-wired into our DNA. After all, we as a species have spent tens (if not hundreds) of thousands of years with a campfire as our major source of fuel.  That smell meant home, hearth, food, family.  We would not exist if it were not for our harnessing of fire.  This morning I feel a deep reverence for the element of fire, a sacred gratitude.

This wandering life, too, feels more like home than any house I have lived in.  Now I am home wherever I go, as long as I have our “wagon,” as long as I have this man to love and be loved by.  Our feline companions are happy, too, so long as they are with us.  And friends.  We have found and made good friends, too.

Last night, Rigel, the beloved rabbit of Daniel and Mandy died.  It was a sorrowful evening.  They were both so heart-broken over his imminent demise!  Rick and I could only stand by and try to be of comfort.  Somewhere around midnight, Rigel slipped away quietly in Daniel’s arms.  Tearfully, he was wrapped in his favorite blanket and with his favorite toy bell, and received a final tobacco blessing.  Then the four of us walked in solemn procession to the camp dumpster.  There he was hugged one last time and ceremoniously placed in his metal coffin.  We all wept and sang “Amazing Grace” softly, then arm in arm we hugged each other and returned to our camp sadder but somehow enriched by the beauty of our impromptu ceremony under the starlight. 

Best darn rabbit funeral I ever attended.  

Mandy and Dan comforting poor Rigel.