The act of making a stuffed rabbit, or elephant, is sometimes a strange and lonely endeavor. And still, full of possibility. Introductions are made gradually. Comfort, no matter how soft the wool, comes slow. Much like a new town with new neighbors; the husband in the first week of an arranged marriage; a young student transferred to a class mid-January. Eventually, routine sets in, and town hall, the wife's face, the playground, is so familiar you wonder how it is that you were so uncomfortable in the first place.
And the toy appears and sets his own name and you look at it, ready to make another.
How could it be that this small white or grey or brown rabbit wasn't a part of your life just a few short weeks ago?
