Waiting for my husband to emerge from his last meeting of the day, I was reaching for my phone when I noticed a compact rabbit grazing in the manicured office park lawn, just in front of a row of shrubs. Shortly another one popped out, then another. Being alone, I had no reason not to exclaim aloud, and soon my dialog evoked a Pre-K storybook readaloud: Now there are four bunnies! I see number five peeking out! Oooooh, bunny six is in a big hurry!

Eventually there were eight identical small bunnies. A litter?

So cute! Short ears forming a tiny TV-antenna-V on each head. Heads perking up alertly between mouthfuls. Long grey bodies looking sooo soft, with just patch of white fur where the tail should be. Sometimes they hopped, and sometimes they ran. One was very fast. They whack-a-moled in and out of the shrubbery row, reacting to walkers, birds, cars, and a dozen other potential threats undetectible by me.

While watching, I reminisced about Rabbits I Have Known. The first, and last, mammal I intentionally killed was a rabbit. I like shooting, but I don’t like killing. I had shot my BB gun at birds and squirrels often with no luck, but on my first rifle hunting trip, at about age twelve, I connected, and was immediately horrified. The shot wasn’t clean; the animal suffered.

I have many happy memories of touching soft, sweet bunnies at school, at friends’ homes, and in petting zoos. The Easter Bunny was part of my childhood, and to a lesser extent my children’s. An incomplete list of faves includes Br’er Rabbit, Bugs Bunny, Roger R., Peter R. and Little Bunny Foo Foo. I’ve also eaten some delicious rabbit, especially in Paris. I was introduced to a Playboy Bunny once when I lived in Dallas.

Rumination and observation are all too rare in my life. I’m starting to wonder whether today’s constant barrage of short messages, article summaries, quick-break shows, and lightning round social interactions is affecting my ability to think analytically, memorize, and focus. I can still easily spend an hour reading a book, but I get bored quickly while waiting, and I have an impulse control issue around texting every pedestrian event en route to a social engagement:

Heading out now!

Had to park on the top floor, be down soon.

I’m at the bar.

I’m in the lobby.

I’m in the cell phone lot.

I’m looking at the moon.

I’m listening to an accordion player dressed in spangled bubble wrap.

I’m deciding whether life is meaningful enough to justify getting out of bed.

Put down the phone, woman! Much better to take some deep breaths, smell the roses, or observe a few bunnies, preferably without texting or snapchatting about it.