I remember waking up on Easter morning when I was around eight years old and feeling a heavy weight on my chest, torso and thighs.
It was so heavy in fact, I couldn’t move. I could only look down towards my toes, over my comforter and to what was pinning me to the bed. I gasped. In awe, amazement, and most of all; thanks.
Piled on top of me was a wheelbarrow load of bunny shit. I saw dried out round pellets spilling out over me that were still soft to touch but hard enough they didn’t make a mess.
My bedroom smelled like a barn and as I squeeze myself out of bed and rolled onto the floor I saw a distinct trail of bunny poop dribbling off my bed, out my bedroom door and down the hall. I followed the trail. It took me all around the house, through the living room, under the kitchen table, down the length of the hall to the front door of our house. And there at the end of the trail of excrement was a big basket of Easter chocolate.
I didn’t give a shit about the gifts and eggs and candy, instead I retraced my steps over and over again, following the trail that smelled faintly of a manger throughout our house back to my bed again where the pile ended.
Here’s what I deduced from my investigation: The Easter bunny is NOT white, like most representations of him show.
He is a chocolate brown, more the color of a deer. Standing at about 5 and a half feet tall, his hair is longer than you’d imagine it to be and o’ so soft. He has crust at the corners of his eyes from the dust on the road and he has exceptionally long lashes. His butt is dirty from all the pooping and his feet are huge. He smiles with his eyes and he doesn’t talk- because he’s motherfucking rabbit.
This guy had hopped in through our front door, finding his way (we all agree that the Easter Bunny is a boy right?) to my room and then while watching me sleep, he hopped up onto my bed, nuzzled my cheek with his nose, and with great excitement dumped a load as big as a garbage can on top of me.
He wanted me to know he was real.
He wanted me to be certain.
And I was.
I cleaned up all the poop in the house and took it outside to our garden.
I didn’t touch the chocolate or the toys or the ribbons from my basket. The shit was far superior then all that.
Because, to me, this was what love felt like, a warm weight that held you softly down and smelled sweet, like grass and hay.
Thank you God (dess).
For the unexplained and the unknown and the mysterious in our lives.
Thank you for the miracles that show up while we are sleeping.
Thank you for all the shit.