Easter morning. The boy searched for eggs at Mom's, in accordance with His wishes.
He found basket upon basket of chocolate shaped as bunnies, as sweet as sugar is to the tongue.
The eggs were painted each in powdered reds, oranges, yellows, blues, and purples. The oils we mixed into the dyes created unexpected patterns along the oblong surface of the shell. They broke apart easily. Mom deviled, after having split them, after having applied the whisk.
The eggs were hidden everywhere in the house. Everywhere that could be easily reached; miraculous and nearly inexplicable.
That is one busy bunny, I offered.
The wind came and went along the grass of the back yard, twisting the wind spinner as it arrived, departing along the upper crevice of the river, beyond the trees, which were likewise drifting in those selfsame winds.
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