Floods at Moggill – the running hare

We drove to Moggill Ferry to look at the flood waters rising and walked further and further down the road to see better.  To see closer.  Umbrellas and thin rain.  A few small clusters of people in the wet.  Most had chosen to stay home.

A hare dashed out from the verge, soaking wet, and jinked, erratic, across the road.  It looked lost and desperate – panic carrying it faster than thought.  It angled across into light scrub on the other side, where the river was rising.  Those fine, black-tipped ears.  The draggled coat. 

“You’re going the wrong way, mate,” said a man near me, more amused than sympathetic.

The hare looked so nearly okay – just a little bit of luck, a little bit of dry weather . . .

If only he can keep his head . . . .

Or, if only running like mad turns out to be the best decision.

Maybe today already he is fine again, lordly and competent.

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