The preschoolers and I were in the play yard. The radishes were ripe for pulling, and the kids felt eager to take a few home. Who knows if three year olds would actually consider them as edible? But this first experience of planting was reward enough.  The sand in the box was warm, and I invited everyone to take off their shoes and socks. It is a nice feeling to have the sand between your toes.

A gardening crew began to work nearby, and their electric motors whizzed loudly. The kids noticed, without being afraid. But the rabbit who lives under the deck certainly was. She tore across the grass a few feet away from the kids, pausing for half a second under the slide before deciding it was not safe there either. She disappeared in the tall grass on the other side of the fence. A minute later two small bunnies took off after her, hearts pounding, no longer able to bear the instructions to keep hidden as the roaring weed wacker approached. Yet they did not know which part of the grass their mama disappeared into. 

I wished I could help, but alas I am as scary as a lawn mower to a six ounce bunny, and besides they melted into the brush. I longed to cradle them in my arms and explain. 

"I'm not going to hurt you. Neither will the man if he sees you. Let me help you find your mama."

They did not have any reason to trust me. There are genuine dangers out there for rabbits, though preschoolers and well meaning landscapers with clippers are not among them. 

One of the specters that frightens people is What People Will Think. It roars its terrible roar, sending many of us scurrying to the mall in search of trendy clothes, or to the plastic surgeon for a shaplier body. 

But what would it be like if we could calmly hop away?