á austurvelli

The dark is returning here. Not the capital-d Dark but the lowercase-d dark that comes again in August, a reminder that September and the equinox is not far away, and then after that the winter and the thicker, colder, weightier Dark that will last until March, when the sky is pierced by slanting light that strikes the mind like the unwelcome tone of an alarm clock. But at the moment, long evenings ease into coolness and extended twilight.

In this dimness last night at eleven I find myself in the square downtown, leaning against the pediment of a statue and talking about whether there have always been odd folk and sérvitringar in this town and why. Behind my interlocutor, on the grass lit obliquely by lights on the footpaths, a bushy-haired man strolls aimlessly, stepping now forward, now right, now back, and it is several minutes before I realize that he is out to air his rabbit.

The rabbit is a dainty black creature (or appears so in the low light - perhaps it was brown, and perhaps there is a whole vocabulary of rabbit color-terms in this language that I have never learned), ears erect, hopping and sniffing on the cool green turf, allowing himself to be herded, gently, by where his master sets each of his feet, now before him, now to one side.

A late summer night is perhaps the only time one can safely air one's rabbit (black, inquisitive) in the town square, let him lollop to and fro without attracting the unwanted attention of passers -by. One's rabbit might be quite a private thing. Still, I imagine it is very good for the rabbit, who must be an apartment dweller without easy access to clean-smelling growing things. It would probably good for everyone to get out now and then of a still, dim evening, and let each of our small, black animals stretch its legs and sniff the air.