Interval of Light

The rabbit believed light existed only while he was working. He pulled the glass machine from dawn to dusk, terrified that one pause would plunge everyone into darkness. The woman counted his steps; the cyclist measured his speed. Then a wheel jammed between two notes of the town bell.

In the stillness, a blade of sunlight entered through the glass and rested on the rabbit’s face. Nobody had produced it. Nobody could hurry it. The woman stopped counting, the cyclist put down his watch, and together they watched dust turn into a galaxy.

When the wheel was repaired, the rabbit chose to leave a small interval between every twelve steps. People began gathering for those pauses. They called them failures at first. Later, they simply called them light.