Late, Late, Late!

White rabbit trumpet

White rabbit (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The white rabbit scurries down the tunnel, clutching a pair of miniature white gloves. When the tunnel gives way to grass and a blue sky, the fresh air seems to urge him on.

He darts past a house enveloped in a cloud of pepper which tickles my nose and stings my eyes. He sprints past white roses dripping with red paint. Everything in the garden smells of iron.

Then he stops and turns. He points a pair of cute, accusing gloves at me.

‘What are you doing chasing after me?’ he shouts, ‘You should be writing!’

‘But I am,’ I tell him.

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