A cottontail hopped about in the field in the steady rain during lunch today. It didn’t seem to be seeking shelter.

This brought to mind a train ride from London. My friend pointed to a soccer field: Fifty rabbits spread out and browsing across the green pitch.

A long time ago, I dreamed of a field of rabbits.

I’m reading a book called Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami, translated by Philip Gabriel. Reading Murakami feels like rabbits popping up everywhere. My rabbits. I don't know how that works.

My favorite character is Mr. Nakata, a simple man. As he is reminded: 'Other people can read all the books they want and they're still not gonna know how to talk to stones or cats.'