The Tracks Beneath the Hedge

I had my crayons ready when the snow began covering the rabbit tracks in our yard.

“Wait!” I said, pressing my nose to the window. “Those tracks are for my Christmas card!”

The tracks had crossed the backyard in a bouncy line, from the old hedge to the little wooden gate. I had seen them that morning. They looked like tiny commas in the snow, with two bigger marks in front and two smaller ones behind.

I was making a card for Grandma. I wanted to draw the backyard rabbit beside its tracks, then write, “Merry Christmas from Eli.” I had even picked a soft gray crayon for the rabbit’s coat.

Mom helped me put on my boots and warm mittens. “You can look from the porch,” she said. “Let’s give the rabbit plenty of room.”

The backyard was quiet and white. Snowflakes drifted past the birdbath and settled on the fence. Near the hedge, a small rabbit sat with its ears up. I stayed on the porch step and watched.

“Hello,” I whispered.

The rabbit twitched its nose. Then it hopped toward the hedge.

I took one careful step across the yard, hoping to see it better. The rabbit sprang away—not far, just around the hedge and out of sight.

“Oh,” I said. “I only wanted to draw you.”

Mom came to stand beside me. “Wild rabbits need their space,” she said gently. “They feel safer when we watch from indoors.”

I nodded. I didn’t want my picture to make the rabbit feel worried. I went inside and looked out the window again. While I was gone, fresh snow had softened the tracks. A few flakes landed in their little dents. Then more snow swept across the yard, and the marks began to disappear.

I hurried to my crayons. “I’ll draw the tracks before they’re gone!”

But when I looked outside, the snow had covered the open part of the trail. My card had a blank white yard, a gray crayon, and no rabbit to sit for a portrait.

I rested my chin on the windowsill. The snow kept falling, and the hedge stood dark and quiet at the edge of the yard. Somewhere beneath its branches, the rabbit was tucked away, safe from the wind.

I tried to draw the rabbit from memory. First I made a round body. Then I added long ears, but one looked like a floppy leaf. I turned the card upside down and tried again.

“That one looks more like a potato,” I said.

Mom smiled. “A very handsome potato.”

I giggled, but I still wanted the picture to show the real rabbit and its real tracks. I peered through the window. The open yard was smooth again, shining beneath the gray afternoon sky.

Then I noticed something beside the hedge. Under the low branches, the snow was thinner. A little sheltered path ran along the ground, and there—just where the hedge made a cozy roof—were several tiny tracks.

I leaned closer to the glass. The marks curved in and out beneath the branches. They weren’t a perfect line. Some were faint, and one had a dusting of snow in the middle. But they were there.

“The rabbit found a covered path!” I said.

Mom looked where I pointed. “Shrubs and hedges can give rabbits shelter. They can tuck underneath and stay out of the wind.”

I watched without going outside. The rabbit wasn’t there, but the tracks showed where it had traveled. I didn’t need a close-up picture after all. I could draw the place that helped the rabbit feel safe.

I pulled a fresh card toward me. With a brown crayon, I drew the hedge as a row of soft, round bumps. Beneath it, I made a little sheltered space. Then I pressed my gray crayon lightly onto the paper: two small marks, two larger ones, a pause, and another set. The tracks curved under the hedge and disappeared.

In the open snow, I drew just a few flakes. I left plenty of white space, because the yard looked peaceful that way. At the bottom, I wrote, “Merry Christmas, Grandma. I saw where the rabbit went.”

As the afternoon grew dim, I set the card on the windowsill. A shape moved near the hedge. The rabbit returned, nose twitching, and hopped into the sheltered path. I stayed inside. It paused beneath the branches, then turned its ears toward the window.

I held up my card. The rabbit looked for a moment, or maybe it was listening to the quiet snow. Then it hopped along beneath the hedge, leaving new marks in the soft white ground.

I kept the card at the window until the rabbit slipped around the far end of the hedge. I couldn’t see it anymore, but I could still see the little path it had made. Fresh flakes began to settle there, too, one at a time.

“Your picture caught the whole story,” Mom said.

I looked at the card. The hedge made a brown, bumpy roof. The tracks curved beneath it like tiny steps leading to a secret room. My rabbit was only a small gray shape, no bigger than my thumb. Somehow, that felt just right.

“I think Grandma will know it’s our yard,” I said.

“She’ll know it’s your yard,” Mom said. “And she’ll know you were thinking about the rabbit.”

We carried the card to the kitchen table. I laid it flat so the crayon wouldn’t smudge, and Mom helped me fold a sheet of paper around it. Outside, the sky turned a deeper blue. The fence grew dim, and the hedge became a soft dark shape against the snow.

At supper, I told Dad about the tracks disappearing and the sheltered path appearing. I told him how the rabbit had hopped away when I stepped closer, and how I had watched from the window instead.

“Sounds like you gave it room to be a rabbit,” he said.

I liked that. The rabbit didn’t have to sit still for my picture. It could choose where to hop and when to hide. I could still draw what I had seen.

After supper, I placed the card on my desk. From my bedroom window, I could see the hedge beneath the quiet Christmas lights on our porch. Snow covered the garden, the birdbath, and the tops of the fence posts. It looked as if the whole yard had pulled up a white blanket.

I changed into my pajamas and climbed into bed. Mom tucked the quilt around my shoulders. Through the glass, the hedge stood still in the evening, sheltering the rabbit somewhere beneath its branches.

I imagined its new tracks curling away under the hedge, hidden from the wind and slowly dusted with snow. My card rested on the desk, showing the little path where the rabbit had gone. I watched the yard grow quiet, then closed my eyes, warm and glad that the rabbit had a place to hide and I had a way to remember it.