I had stumbled upon Greenock wild life on a charming afternoon, one of those rare moment when rain having abated, the dark clouds were dispelled by winds until the warm light of the sun poured profusely and dispensed long yearned warmth.
To a French living in Scotland, scenes of rabbits idly munching on the green grass speckled with buttercups, clovers and daisies, so close to the busy and noisy human activity, among the roar of passing vehicles and the frantic pace of pedestrian, had seemed utterly alien.
One could not fail to be touched by the cuteness of those little furry creatures with flurry short tail, mostly younglings, but sometimes older ones, grazing and frolicking, full of life, seemingly oblivious of the world around.
I had observed them many times while walking near Saint Lawrence Chapel, on a small strip of lawn along Ingleston street, as they emerged from a dense growth of nettle and long grass, often wondering why they favored this particular spot.
On that specific afternoon, I felt buoyed. I felt emboldened. I lay down on the lawn and crawled forward, trying to sneak my way closer to one of the younglings, like a hunter would have done, patiently, without any brusque movement. I was able to observe them at close range and, better yet, i was able to snap photos.
How strange would I had appeared to the casual passerby, such engrossed was I at that point and then further on, on the way down to the main road and Greenock town center, crouching here and there or lying on the pavement, camera in hand, like a mad scientist over his microscope, taking photographs of flowers and other plants whose vivid color caught my sight. I can only imagine how people would sneer at me, probably taking me for another eccentric.