The Bunny House

I am walking in my yard through the mud. Signs are spring are slowly emerging every where. It is the ugly time of the year but I love this season the most. The days are now longer, and that brings the promise of the return of warmth and summer. The fresh air is full of hope of new beginnings. It no longer hurts my lungs to breath in the cold, I can smell the earth coming back to life. I look down to the greasy clay covering my boots and I spot it half burred in the mud. My traveling bunny. Or it is one half of him. I crouch down and examine his remains before gently picking him up. Last falls landscaping must have left him here. He is bend at funny angles, that is why I did not recognize him sooner. But it is my old friend. I brush the soil covering him off with my fingertips. There is his backpack. And his walking staff. This rabbit has covered many miles in his lifetime.

Traveling Bunny was with me in my old life. Back in my pre fire candy making days. This bunny was one of hundreds that inhabited my home. I collected them from all over the world. I had waltzing bunny's from Switzerland. Gardening bunny's from Germany. Bunny family's from England. Bunny's wearing clogs from Holland. I new every antique dealer who specialized in metal chocolate molds in the States and thanks to the internet had suppliers from Europe that soon became fast friends.

Every one of the molds was a work of art. From the outside, they appeared to be just a lump of unrefined metal. But when you opened them up, to their smooth polished shiny silver interior that produced the intricatly detailed chocolate, you apeaciated their real workmanship and beauty. The nicer ones from the turn of the century would show every hair the artist had given the rabbit. Most were adopted by me from old candy making shops. Often, it was the local pharmacist that would also me the candymaker. Only the large, well to do family's would own their own mold. The idea that the same molds I used had brought joy to lucky children on Easter morning delighted me.

At Easter time, I would become the Easter bunny. I would order fifty pounds each of white, mild and dark chocolate, and every surface in my house would become covered in candy. I was a hero in my son's school. Neibhors and dentists loved me.

After the house burned, and I was walking around the large ash pit that once was my home, along with the smell of charred ash, was the sickening sweet stench of burned chocolate. That gave me optimism. "My bunny's were metal, at least they will have made it", I had hoped. Not a single one escaped perishing that night.

As I squat down on my haunches staring at all that is left of traveling bunny, Goosemount walks over and places his hand on my shoulder to have a better look at what I am holding. "Mom you can make Easter bunny's!", he excitedly exclaims. "No, honey, he is all beat up." "Yes, you can, they don't have to be perfect." "No, he is no longer safe for making candy." K2 by this time has joined us and is having difficulty seeing a rabbit in the scrape of metal I am holding. He is too young to remember the details. "Why don't we buy new ones Mom?", he asks, "And save that one for memories?" I stand up and toss traveling bunny into the trash. "No, how bout you guys help me make some chocolate eggs this year?"