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Description
Hares with a poem in the background.

Mad March Hare

He lopes crookedly over rolling grasslands,
Shadow lenghened in the reddening sun,
Turning ginger hair to orange.
Eyes huge, wide and manic;
Ears twitching, alert to danger ever present.
A hermit most of the year, but now the March Madness is upon him
And he seeks company.
Moving from field to field, through hedgerows and thickets,
A Nomad’s life;
Out in the open, rain or shine,
Following his belly, resting in his own form;
But always aware:
Head up, eyes wide, ears erect.
Those eyes, so golden and open –
Insanity seems to reside in his glassy stare which extends to front and back,
All encompassing.
Those ears, tall and spoonlike,
Black tipped with gold,
Majestically crowning his intelligent head.

Foxes lurk in this clearing,
He senses their presence and crouches low,
Statue-still, avoiding detection,
Waiting for a moment to bolt.
And then he streaks effortlessly across the grasslands;
Long hind legs powerfully propelling him across the landscape,
Thrusting on huge, hairy toes;
Stretching easily,
Tail down blackly hiding the snowy white.
Danger evaded, he sinks once more into the earth,
Inconspicuous,
Resting but still vigilent,
Wary.
Enemies are everywhere and he cannot afford the luxury of ignoring them,
Or he will become the evening meal of fox or large birds of prey;
Or fail to dodge a farmer’s bullet;
Or crushed beneath clumsy cattle or modern machinery.

The sun is setting and gradual movement catches his beady eye.
Loose associations,
Rare creatures he recognises from former seasons,
Eemerge from the undergrowth to socialise in the balmy dusk.

All at once his senses overcome him,
The powerful instinct takes over
And he becomes frantic, crazy, a Mad March Hare.
He leaps into the air in a deranged frenzy of twisting leaps and giant bounds
And runs in zigzag right angles,
Capturing the attention of his fellows.

From the midst of this madness he spots a suitable female
And presents himself,
But she, ever coy, boxes him,
Hair flying in the scuffle.
Rearing up onto hind legs they engage in a boisterous ritual;
She, thrashing and pawing,
He defending;
A mad dance under the lingering sun.
A ridiculous performance for one usually so self-possessed and charismatic,
But a necessary preamble.

At length the sun descends behind the horizon
And danger lurks beneath the cold light of the moon.
Time to find a new form and leave the company of others,
His loose associations,
He lopes away;
Ears acute, finely tuned, quivering sure;
Eyes wide and unblinking, constantly watching.

He fades into the darkness, a shadow.

Description
Hares with a poem in the background.

Mad March Hare

He lopes crookedly over rolling grasslands,
Shadow lenghened in the reddening sun,
Turning ginger hair to orange.
Eyes huge, wide and manic;
Ears twitching, alert to danger ever present.
A hermit most of the year, but now the March Madness is upon him
And he seeks company.
Moving from field to field, through hedgerows and thickets,
A Nomad’s life;
Out in the open, rain or shine,
Following his belly, resting in his own form;
But always aware:
Head up, eyes wide, ears erect.
Those eyes, so golden and open –
Insanity seems to reside in his glassy stare which extends to front and back,
All encompassing.
Those ears, tall and spoonlike,
Black tipped with gold,
Majestically crowning his intelligent head.

Foxes lurk in this clearing,
He senses their presence and crouches low,
Statue-still, avoiding detection,
Waiting for a moment to bolt.
And then he streaks effortlessly across the grasslands;
Long hind legs powerfully propelling him across the landscape,
Thrusting on huge, hairy toes;
Stretching easily,
Tail down blackly hiding the snowy white.
Danger evaded, he sinks once more into the earth,
Inconspicuous,
Resting but still vigilent,
Wary.
Enemies are everywhere and he cannot afford the luxury of ignoring them,
Or he will become the evening meal of fox or large birds of prey;
Or fail to dodge a farmer’s bullet;
Or crushed beneath clumsy cattle or modern machinery.

The sun is setting and gradual movement catches his beady eye.
Loose associations,
Rare creatures he recognises from former seasons,
Eemerge from the undergrowth to socialise in the balmy dusk.

All at once his senses overcome him,
The powerful instinct takes over
And he becomes frantic, crazy, a Mad March Hare.
He leaps into the air in a deranged frenzy of twisting leaps and giant bounds
And runs in zigzag right angles,
Capturing the attention of his fellows.

From the midst of this madness he spots a suitable female
And presents himself,
But she, ever coy, boxes him,
Hair flying in the scuffle.
Rearing up onto hind legs they engage in a boisterous ritual;
She, thrashing and pawing,
He defending;
A mad dance under the lingering sun.
A ridiculous performance for one usually so self-possessed and charismatic,
But a necessary preamble.

At length the sun descends behind the horizon
And danger lurks beneath the cold light of the moon.
Time to find a new form and leave the company of others,
His loose associations,
He lopes away;
Ears acute, finely tuned, quivering sure;
Eyes wide and unblinking, constantly watching.

He fades into the darkness, a shadow.