Beachside Bunnies | ~upd~

A brown-and-white rabbit sat on a piece of driftwood shaped like a whale’s rib. It didn’t hop away. It just looked at her with one eye, then the other, then went back to nibbling a clover sprouting from a crack in the wood.

“He’s recovering,” Eloise said.

Captain twitched his nose. Behind him, emerging from the repaired dunes, the other rabbits appeared. Granite. Shadow. A dozen more. They waited. beachside bunnies

Her father was in the kitchen, staring at a cold cup of coffee. He looked up when she came in. Saw the bundle. Saw the small, muddy face peeking out.

Eloise looked out the window. The dunes were quiet, but she could see them—small shapes watching from the shadows of the sea oats. A brown-and-white rabbit sat on a piece of

Eloise discovered them the summer her mother stopped getting out of bed.

She knelt down. “You have a home,” she said. “Out there. With your people.” “He’s recovering,” Eloise said

Not the kind that makes the news—no names, no evacuations. Just a hard August squall that turned the sky the color of a bruise and threw the sea against the shore like a fist. Rain lashed the cottage windows. Wind tore two shingles off the roof.