Different jumps. Same happiness along the way.
The first rabbit had been studying the stone for quite some time.
It was a perfectly ordinary stone.
Round.
Gray.
Wet around the edges.
Unfortunately, it was also on the other side of some water.
The rabbit crouched.
He leaned forward.
He leaned backward.
He examined the distance again.
Behind him, three rabbits waited.
One was patient.
One was less patient.
The fourth had already begun stretching.
This seemed unnecessary.
The First Jump
The stream moved gently between the stones with a bright little shhh-shhh, carrying tiny leaves around their edges. The air smelled of wet grass and cool mud. Moss softened the rocks in dark green patches.
The first rabbit lowered himself until his belly nearly touched the stone.
One.
Two.
Three—
Hop.
He landed on the next rock.
All four feet arrived together.
Nothing terrible happened.
He looked back with the expression of someone who had personally established that stone travel was possible.
The second rabbit required no further evidence.
He jumped.
Splash.
Not into the stream.
Almost.
One back foot clipped the water and sent a cold spray across his tail.
He froze.
The other rabbits froze.
A drop slid from one ear.
Then he shook himself and jumped again.
Apparently dignity dried quickly in sunshine.
Four Techniques
By the third stone, everyone had developed a method.
The careful rabbit inspected every landing place before moving.
Crouch.
Measure.
Hop.
Check.
The smallest rabbit preferred tiny jumps.
Hop.
Hop.
Hop.
If two stones were close enough to be reached in one leap, she used two anyway.
Nobody knew how.
The third rabbit simply jumped whenever enthusiasm reached sufficient pressure.
This produced excellent speed and questionable landings.
And then there was the fourth.
He waited until the others were watching.
He backed up.
Lowered his head.
Raised his tail.
The stream continued flowing, unaware that an important athletic event was about to occur.
He ran three steps and launched himself.
His front legs stretched forward.
His back legs stretched backward.
His ears streamed behind him.
For one magnificent second, he appeared to believe there might be judges.
He landed safely on the next stone.
Then slid six inches.
Scrrrp.
One foot entered the water.
Splash.
The smallest rabbit laughed so hard she nearly fell in too.
Across
They continued.
Stone.
Crouch.
Jump.
Land.
Sometimes splash.
The four rabbits never crossed the stream in quite the same way.
One needed certainty.
One needed small steps.
One needed momentum.
And one apparently needed an audience.
Yet somehow they kept arriving at the next stone together.
Perhaps shared happiness has never required matching technique.
A picnic can contain the person who eats immediately and the one arranging everything beautifully first. A puddle invites one child around it and another directly through it. Even laughter has different speeds.
Sameness is remarkably unnecessary when everyone is having a good time.
The rabbits, fortunately, had no interest in discussing this.
There was one stone left.
The Other Side
The careful rabbit crossed first.
Hop.
The smallest followed.
Hop-hop.
The enthusiastic rabbit landed beside them with a little spray.
The athlete came last.
Naturally, he made it enormous.
He soared over the final gap and landed on the grassy bank with all four feet spread dramatically.
Success.
Four rabbits.
One stream.
No casualties.
They stood together on the far side, breathing quickly, fur ruffled by the breeze.
The athlete looked back across the water.
At the stones.
At the splashes still settling between them.
At the very first rock.
His ears rose.
He crouched.
The other three stared at him.
Then he jumped back.
Apparently, they had misunderstood the trip.
There had never been another side.
There were only more jumps.
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