This morning, I found just a few halves of plastic eggs in front of the lake house. Void of candy, just wet enough inside to keep a blade or two of gold grass stuck to the inside of the shell.
The grass here doesn’t have a shade of green yet — still golden brown. But the sun was out, almost warm — if that wind would have died down just enough to let the sun rest on our shoulders for longer than a second.
For yesterday’s Easter Egg hung, we were missing a few neighbor boys, but the boys that remained held true to their tradition of using plastic store grocery bags as their “Easter Basket” of choice.