Faux Hare

In the midst of the morning a light fog hung over the prairie. A rabbit scurried from its burrow and amongst the bushes. The hunter laid in wait for his moment. The bush was prime with due and fungi. The rabbit lathered itself within and grew fat and pompous and left its bush a king, thinking only of himself. He walked with a strut, the rabbit of the prairie. As he made his way to his burrow he thought of his flight to royalty and the path that he now must take. For he had weighed his past and decided the life of his pitiful predecessor, the rabbit who had gone in search of food by day, was the life of the miserable and paltry, those of which he was not. The rabbit walked upright and astute and in a manner not befitting a rabbit. The hunter took aim. The clear joviality of the creature that his eyes locked on was a meal in and of its own. It had meant days of searching for the fox; the wilds of the woods was meant for only the keenest of creatures and as the days past and meals grew scarce it was clear that only the best of hunters would survive. The fox used its cunning in searching for its next meal, it found tracks and smelt sticks before un-smelt. The fox was one of craft and wiles. Perhaps he wasn’t the strongest fox in the forest, but he was more determined and more persevering in his hunt, he knew he must eat and he searched throughout the forest and made it an art, he was a fox of ruse, he did what foxes did best and in doing so came clad with the preparation and discipline the other foxes lacked. In the culmination of the moment and in one deft swipe the fox knocked the rabbit from its roost, dethroning ignorance and the unbecoming behavior of the wretched. The fox in the true wiles of instinct feasted on the rabbit and in doing so righted the rabbit into what he truly was: just a rabbit.