Right now, in my back yard, six tiny rabbits are nursing under their mom, who is spread out long as a baguette. Their nest is hidden under leaves in my garden, which is only appropriate since they’ll all end up in my garden anyway.

Their ears are translucent as a fingernail, small as a mouse’s. Today they are no bigger than my thumb, shivering even in the sun. Actually, I took that photo last year. I suppose that’s like having a baby and then showing everyone a baby photo of your baby’s older brother because you happen to have that handy and they look alike anyway. But bunnies do all look alike. So do human babies, for that matter—they all look like each other. They all look like tadpoles.

Last week in India a woman gave birth to a baby with two faces. The baby was immediately hailed as a god, which was a stroke of luck, because here we’d just sign her/them straight up for the circus. They named the two-faced baby Clinton, which is a Hindu word for “I already think I’m a god.”

My neighbor poisons her rabbits. She has a great garden. I know a guy (not a friend) who shoots them with a pistol he carries around with him while he mows his yard. If bunnies were infesting my house I might feel differently about it, but the yard is their house, and they’ve been there longer than I have. So I leave them alone.

Silly, simple, sentimental, sure I am. In this morning’s paper I couldn’t stop myself from reading the court details about a little girl found decomposed in the woods, strangled, her skrunchie still around her ponytail. Another story of a man who drugging his 28-year-old sister for incest. More of Barack and Hillary as they hope to destroy each other’s reputation. So yeah—a little time with bunnies for me, please.

It’s a perfectly beautiful day outside. Maybe only people who endure winters can be so agog at such a spring day. Sometimes beautiful days feel surreal to me, like today. Or like the perfect, sixty degree, clear blue sky day when I watched the Twin Towers knocked down. A few days ago it was Earth Day, and I enjoyed the most lovely weather imaginable. When the full moon rose—I didn’t even know it was a full moon day—I felt guilty with indulgence for being so lucky.

Maybe I’ll go pet a lucky rabbit’s foot—while it’s still on the rabbit.