Thursday, May 31, 2012

Cotton Powell

The last weeks my father lived he was in a hospital bed in the front room of the house he build with his own hands. I would leave home at 3 in the morning and after a hours drive arrive to spend a hour or so with him  before I went on to work.

My sister Fleta would feed dad's chickens in front of his window so he could watch them eat in the evening. There  in the breaking day dad and I would watch a cotton tail rabbit feed on the grain that the chickens had left behind.  Ever since when I see a cotton tail rabbit I have thought about daddy and the last few days of his life. We are having a drought here and the only fresh greenery is my garden which I water ever other day. This morning as I sat in my chair enjoying the morning first light up hopped a cotton tail rabbit into my garden looking for some fresh greens. I spent several moments watching the bunny's black eyes hiding behind a tomato plant watching me and I remembered once again those days long gone when I sat and spent time with daddy watching another rabbit looking for food.

It is appropriate  that since dad's nickname was "cotton" that my memory of him be triggered by a cotton tail rabbit.


Sister--Three said...

In the winter, he loved to hunt and few and have stewed rabbit.

It is sprinkling here, not raining, but perhaps that will come.

The 4th Sister said...

he would cut me a stick and whittle the end like a spear when we went hunting so I could stab a rabbit with it...some how I never got close enough to a live rabbit to spear it...imagine that