is Fable. Many moons ago, I wrote a little children's
book for our daughter which remained hidden in my
notebooks for years. Finally I resurrected it and
realized how perfectly it fit in with the summer diary
sections that form the first and last parts of this book.
Last summer we were watching the border horror
unfold as this country began separating families
and imprisoning children. Not to mention all the other
shameful governing we've been witnessing. This book
is a parable enclosed by rabbits. It starts with the rabbits
in our Bellingham yard and leads to the shores of
Lake Erie:
I wonder what the Ohio rabbits will be like.
A long time ago when we lived there, we shared
some moments together. I used to take Coral on
walks to Bunnytown. It was only a short way from
our rented house. The road turned a corner, and
folded out next to the buckeyes and tall wild
grasses a Frankenstein power station was built,
surrounded by chain-link fence. You could feel
the hum and snap in the air. Around it was gravel
and mowed lawn. We could always count on a few
rabbits being there. The sight of them would quiet
Coral and she would point and whisper. I also
remember the very early mornings pushing the
baby carriage at 2 AM...long pink streaks of the
sodium street lamps, houses dark and huddled,
the big trees hushing leaves overhead, the plastic
stroller wheels crackling on the cement. The only
other one awake to see us would be a rabbit.
Fable is also as old fashioned a warning as one of
those Grimm's fairy tales. Wondering and wandering.
And it ends with those Lake Erie shores:
Fishing poles lean against the cement ledge.
A lot of people park their cars at this end of the
road. The broken remains of the old bridge head
a hundred feet more into the lake then stop in a
heap of slanting dust and rebar. Sumac and bulrush
grow. People find spots to fish. One guy stops us
and warns us they aren't biting. He's been here two
hours and nothing is happening. That's okay we
say. We step over the rubble and I think of the
cars that used to use this for a road. The ghosts
of them run through us.
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