Growing up, just about my favorite thing in the world was the annual Easter egg hunt. Dressed in pastels for church, in dresses annually marked by lace or bows or both, I’d sprint the length of the backyard, dodging my sister or brother, in search of those bright eggs.
In adulthood, of course, there really is no equivalent.
So yesterday, instead of eggs, I hunted the colors I might have once dyed them.
And luckily, spring was more than happy to oblige.
If only my siblings had been alongside me this year, dashing through the sunshine, in search of the next great find.
Then, the day might have actually been perfect. But I’ll take this, for now, and hope that next year, we’ll get to be together, in the sunshine, somewhere, eggs and colors and joy for the taking.