The Hare

White-shadowed keeper of listening,

you move where snow remembers

every footfall,

body light as breath.

You are neither weak nor fleeing,

but alert,

the one who survives

by noticing first.

Your stillness is not surrender,

but attunement,

reminding us that danger

often passes

those who do not announce themselves.

Hare, you are not afraid of winter.

You change to meet it,

you hold close to the earth,

you move only when needed,

and still you endure,

still you remain.

In your quiet,

there is resilience without spectacle.

In your swiftness,

there is the promise

that sensitivity is strength,

that survival belongs

not only to the bold,

but to the aware.