Bunny Rabbits & Fireflies
This morning, I sat on my deck and watched three bunnies nibble at the morning dew in the grass. Not for the first time, I noticed how many rabbits are out this summer—seems like they’ve taken over the neighborhood. And honestly, you can’t be mad while looking at bunnies. Even Buggs made us laugh.
At night, the yard lights up with fireflies—more than I remember seeing as a kid when we used to catch them in Mason jars, turning them into our own personal lanterns made by nature.
I write a lot about heavy things. But every now and then, I write about joy. Black joy—the kind that can’t be manufactured.
This morning, I woke up frustrated. A conversation from the night before was still sitting on my chest. My ritual is the same: gym first, where my thoughts get sorted out on the treadmill, then a cup of coffee and my journal outside to capture whatever’s rising to the surface.
My plan? Verbally ether my current adversary through a well-crafted series of texts. I even opened my phone to Google a definition I needed to drive the point home. But before I could type a single word, I looked up—and saw bunnies.
The first word I wrote in my journal was “Bunnies.”
Not anger. Not frustration.
Bunnies.
And just like that, I chose joy. I made a phone call instead of firing off a text. I let softness lead instead of ego. Because the joy of watching bunnies—simple, quiet joy—had elevated me above the need to clap back.
Tonight, I’m watching the fireflies.
Maybe I’ll grab a Mason jar.
Maybe I’ll frolic.
