A fluffy brown rabbit scampered across the footpath.
It turned to look at me, paused for a few seconds, flashed a Mona-Lisa smile – I swear – then slid under the fence around Russell’s Field.
“The first March hare,” I muttered. “Or, maybe it was a rabbit. Yes, probably a rabbit.”
I re-adjusted the straps on my knapsack and quickened my pace towards the Alwife train station.
Note to self: Look up the difference between a hare and a rabbit on Wikipedia.
Maybe it is the ear length which distinguishes the two.
Rabbits flourished on the grassy field. I doubt there were many predators keeping the population in check.
Cambridge would have to do something this year.
Last Fall, I could count 10 to 20 rabbits on the field as I walked to work in the mornings. Clearly, they were multiplying.
The rabbits seemed unafraid of humans and only fled when unleashed canines appeared.
I snickered as I approached the station doors, ruminating on the phrase “Hare today and gone tomorrow.”