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Every Day Is A Gift

by Andrew Wheatley

Ƥeter, the pine tree, was feeling self
conscious. He was recovering from
surgery (a light trim of his branches:
very common in trees his age.) But the
birds, who used to play in his arms and
sing in his ears, had not returned
since…was he now so unremarkable?

Fortunately, The Black Rabbit of Inlé
knew exactly what to do. This will be
just lovely!
she thought.

The Black Rabbit worked through
the night, folding beautiful paper birds
and placing them in Peter’s branches.
She waited patiently for him to wake.

Little mammal, why have
you done this?

Your friends left you, so I
made you some new
ones.

Paper reminds me of my
mortality, paper will be
the death of me.

Actually, this is o·ri·ga·mi: the
Japanese art of folding paper.
The crane is a symbol of hope.

I read that in a book, which was
also made of paper.

Lovely stuff, paper.

Hey, maybe you'll like being
paper!

How would you feel if I
placed a rabbit fur hat on
your little head while you
were sleeping?

The wind whistled through the
empty space between her ears, Peter’s
words swam in her head. Perhaps he
had a point, her head did look rather
bare…was she now so unremarkable?

Fortunately, The Black Rabbit of Inlé
knew exactly what to do. This will be
just lovely!
she thought.

… No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen him lately.