The walk through Minoru Park, on my way to rehearsal at the Gateway Theatre is hopping with bunnies.  My co-director and I have named several of them, as their personalities emerge along with their upstanding ears, from the hedgerows.  There is Piggy, Nosy, Brat, Cheeky, the Twins and Stanley. I have also taken (in self-preservation) to carrying bags of “not at their peak” vegetables with me, in anticipation of being met by some very curious, and rather assertive wiggly noses, beady, unblinking, expectant eyes and twitching whiskers.

As the air begins to smell sweet with apple and cherry blossom, the ground freshly turned as hopeful gardeners get ready to plant, the dawn chorus of birds getting me up earlier and earlier every morning, I am beginning to feel a tiniest bit of warmth on my shoulders, and I begin to feel restless. Much like the March Hare, who is said to go mad every spring, capering about, dancing madly, (he’s actually trying to attract the attention of a mate) I feel the need to get out and stretch, bend and run through the mud.