Running Hare

He keeps airborne, skimming over the grass defying a specific gravity of joy or fear. He hurtles into a tunnel of space ahead. The land accommodates his passage - gives way. A walleyed rapture, a blind bounding the sky rolls over his whiskers aiding the hares leaping heart. He escapes the eye barreling into nowhere until gone. A waving grass ripples into stillness once more, reclaims the moment the hare had just fled from.