dudemanflab's Diaryland Diary

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Live! The Chihuahuan Desert!

From Ft. Stockton to Loving, I'm
monitoring rabbit populations
as best as one can at 65 mph, or
numbering their ranks with my headlights.

At 22, I notice they graze in pairs.
They nearly always are grazing when we meet
(though I've read enough Stevens and Larson to believe otherwise--
that rabbits have their secret lives as well).
But of course pairs, they've two months to make a family.
These lucky few have survived a year of rubber and asphalt,
raptors, coyotes, and rattlers.
Smart enough to stop,
lower their ears, and pretend I'm not passing,
they're sure to pass on the best genes a rabbit can offer.

How indiscriminate of me! 47, and I've not distinguish cottontails and jackrabbits. Like lumping yams with rutabegas.

You're fully in my mind at 70, so much so I miss some.

76 is confused. With some dark intuition,
he bolts across the road, charging my
left tire. No bump. He stays alive.

Ahead I slightly swerve at the javelina herd--
one across, two stepping with ginger hooves
off the shoulder. They have meaty faces and beady eyes.

A coyote darts past
a thing part-remembered
then obscured.

Once across the border, the rabbits scarcely show.
My dad suggests they've eaten too much "lead."
It's the grass though, the landscape habits of the DOT.
Texas roads have lawns, ours weeds.
I add eight to the hundred from Texas.

11:59 p.m. - March 18, 2008

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