Rabbit Signs & Time Travel

So here’s the thing—I pay attention. To signs. To vibes. To the weird little threads that stitch moments together in ways that feel like magic in disguise. Sometimes the signs are loud, sometimes they’re quiet. And sometimes? Sometimes they’re bunnies.

Three of them in one day.

One chilling at a busy intersection like he was cloaked in invisibility. One popping up in our yard (rare for here). And then, boom—“Run rabbit, run” drifting in from the radio, like Pink Floyd had joined the séance. That’s not random. That’s a breadcrumb.

And I… I’m following the trail.

Because lately, things feel like they’re stirring. The air’s thick with potential, buzzing with that familiar electric hum that says something’s coming. Not chaos—creation. Not uncertainty—activation. That high voltage hum of a life cracking open.

And these rabbits? They’re nudges. Reminders.

I was around twelve when I first felt it—when the world got a little wobbly in the best way. I discovered Saugatuck. The paranormal. The idea that reality isn’t something you suffer through—it’s something you shape. That we can bend energy and invite beauty and speak to the universe in symbols. That magic isn’t a fantasy, it’s a frequency.

Even my CB handle back then? Bunny. Like I knew even then that I’d carry the archetype: sensitive, elusive, wildly creative. Watching. Listening. Hopping when it’s time.

And now, here I am. Signs swirling. Memory surfacing. Threads weaving. And that same voice, the one I nearly silenced a dozen times over, whispering, “Hey girl. Hey woman. The one who knew. It’s time.”

It’s time to honor this life I’ve been dreaming and building. The rituals. The stories. The strange and sacred things I’ve always held close. The tree I named Verdanthea. The blog born of longing and magic. The whisper that became Field Notes from a Wayward Soul.

There’s no spell more powerful than listening to your own soul’s voice. Mine’s getting louder.

So I’m watching. Writing. Waiting. Moving.

Because sometimes the signs are a bunny in the yard.

And sometimes they’re you.

Rooted and Wild ~ TG