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Why did the Bunny color and hide the eggs?
Article ID: 4200
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 4,560
Times Read: 14,550
Author: Spiravdaeg [a WitchVox Sponsor]
Posted: March 31st. 2002
Times Viewed: 14,550
Many, many years ago, in ages log past; before that is, long before the time of human man - there existed a race of brave and noble rabbits. They lived for each other and longed for nothing more than to feel the sun on their fur, to chew clover so green and sweet, and to burrow up into a warm snug hollow they shared with their loved ones.
Of course they were not alone nor did they have dominion over the earth. They shared the earth much as we do now, with other creatures. Both good and bad. Of all the creatures that it could be said they disliked or worse - it was the fox that earned their special hatred. The fox people were the killers of kindlings, those young bunnies with eyes barely open. The race of rabbits was much as we, they too could feel hate and fear. Their world as ours was formed of the same balance.
The fox people were never happy with a sole kill or stolen life. No, they sought out allies to aid them in the quest of becoming the Lords of all the Creatures. That is the lords of the entire earth and all its complements of animals. Winged and feathered, scaled and swimmers, all.....
By bribery and treachery the fox people one day convinced the clan of nearsighted skunks that without the aid of the fox people that they would lose their ability to make the atrocious scent they used to defend themselves with. Unless that is, they agreed to one simple rule. They must eat every white bird's egg they came across or saw.
Now what does this have to do with the kind and gentle rabbits? The many clans of rabbits long and always had lived in peace and openess with the song-birds. They were rivals for nothing. Not food nor shelter, nor even the part of the trees they shared. The birds of course counted as perfect the looming and reaching branches; while, the rabbits loved to dig beneath the great roots. And one more thing so important here to see and know. In those days, a bird born with lovely song - that is one not a screech or caw - they all laid eggs that were white. Snow white and bright as the moon. A few mind you may have been a bit speckled or splotchy, but white all the same. And of all the birds who layed white eggs - it fell to those wonderful singers of bird-song, the robins to lay the whitest.
There was an awful attack launched by the fox people. whose cunning they felt would finally doom the rabbits and the song-birds forcing them to obey and give allegiance (and lives for food for the fox people) to the foxes. The foxes were masters of inciting the war, they had that ability to turn one kind of animal against another. That was their real evil. That was to be their path to greatness. Soon sorrow struck at the hearts of the bird clans, all flock and folds. Their eggs were being eaten, sought out and destroyed by armies of single-minded skunks and foxes. The young were never born. A bird's live so short anyway, that in a very few years there would be no more song-birds to sing beauty through the days.
The rabbits stirred to fight tooth and claw to defend their friends nests, to no avail. Never were the skunk peoples so adequately able to defend themselves by their strange gift of defense! Noxious fumes, blinded eyes, and the rabbits were driven to the brink of desperation by the results of the first battles and frays.
A plan we need a plan, how to out-smart the fox, how to use his own cunning to out-wit him?
An ancient crone of a doe, grumbled forward, squinting at the light unseen by her in her widow's burrow for many weeks and months. Groaning out the words, she croaked out,"Roll them in the clay, the layers at the creek".
"What are you saying?", the clans cried. "Roll what in the clay?""Or who?"
A small young buck spoke up sharp and sudden,"She means the eggs!" "The eggs of our friends!"
The plan came to light in the minds of the rabbits. It was to be that the song-birds would always lay near the creek or would "dust" daily in the creek banks were the clays were the brightest and most vivid of colors. Like a paint, the eggs were rolled or spread about with the colors of the earth. Those birds near the shorelines of streams were assisted by their friends, the rabbit clans, in the pushing and patting of their eggs, as the rabbits were so loved and trusted by the song-bird clans that they would even allow their most precious eggs to be lovingly touched by the gentle rabbits.
All the rabbits ever asked in return was the songs they so loved. Those songs they would break within their busy lives just to hear and listen and marvel at the beauty of the tunes. The birds of the trees would swoop down to the creeks and the rabbits would wet and bathe them, then smear their breasts with colors from the clays, so that they would fly back high to the nests and smear their eggs with those hues and colors.
All was working well, the foxes and skunks were suddenly confronted with no white eggs to eat and destroy. Yet the song-birds and their melodies were still heard and the rabbit clans as stubborn and as obsitinant as ever towards them. No pledges of tribute were offered to them, and the foxes were gaining in anger.
Until one day, a robin's egg rolled to earth, miraculously landing from soft pine bough to the next, finally striking soft powdery sand. A skunk on patrol for the skunk army appeared down the trail. Heading with head swinging from side to side, sniffing and coming closer step by step to the egg. This egg had been wiped by the branches and sand and lay shining on the sand as white as a cloud. A young rabbit saw what was about to take place and ran forward to the egg. He pushed and he shove the egg with his paws and nose so fast towards the claybank that it rolled in to the swift waters of the creek. Without thought or hesitation he dove in and wrapped his body around the egg, to keep it warm and alive. He was swept along by the current, but never did he uncoil from his precious cargo until he came to a bumping and slamming stop - washed up on a rocky shore. Shivering violently from the icy cold water, the young rabbit never released the egg, harboring and using the very last of his warmth to protect it and to save the life within.
So cold did he become, his very skin and fur began to turn blue.
Night came and went, and another, and yet 4 more. A peck to the rabbit's stomache and a new robin was born. The young rabbit now so near to death, wincing from the sharp beak and hearing as if from afar the small chirping cry, unwound from his charge and lay cold, blue and silent. The robin babe cried out to the sky, to those of its kind to come and help and see. They gathered.
By the thousands they gathered. They took up the baby robin and the now dead rabbit. They flew to the trees and beyond to the hills with the young bunny.
They met in their thousands and thousands to reach a resolution. The rabbits had worked so hard to help their peoples and tribes, especially now those of the robins. They all resolved and sang the greatest of their songs - those of magic - that for the courage and kindness, the absolute sacrifice that this small creature, the young bunny had made - that it would always be remembered. To mark this great life and event they sang into being the song and the fact that from that day forward their eggs, those of all robins everywhere would be blue as the poor rabbits fur - and to this day, they are.
The song-birds began to multiply once again. Thanks to the ideas and efforts of their friends. The rabbits still want nothing more than the sun, clover-green and a warm snug hollow to share with their loved ones; - oh yes and the songs of the birds are still as beautiful as robin's eggs are blue.
Location: Bradenton, Florida
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