I remember that day when my grandmother’s cat brought home a full litter of hare-babies. One after another he picked them from their nest and piled them in a neat pile before we could catch him and make the extermination stop. It was when, as my sister put it, my grandmother lived in an “abandoned house in the forest”. It was the old midwife-house and strange herbs still grew in forgotten places around it. He was a great hunter, that cat. No mouse lived in that house for long. Another day he caught a seagull and draged it home, still alive. But then he didn’t know what to do with it so we nursed it back to health and let it fly again.
Fragment 7: not hare-bone, but close enough.
Abandoned car in the forest.
Ridiculously pretty hay field, drying in the sun.