Episode 10: The Easter Egg Hunt
Music - Mozart Sonata, K.331, Bach Minuet in G, Original Compositions by Jessica Roemischer
The Easter Egg Hunt - Memories of Innocence
One Sunday in April, mommy said, “Jessie, how about something fun? There’s an Easter egg hunt today, and you’re invited.” It was a beautiful spring morning. My mom helped me into the car and we traveled to the village. She approached a big house, and other people were there, too. As mommy parked the car, I glimpsed the elegant home that was hosting the event. It was white with blue shutters, and had a wide porch with cushiony chairs to sit on and little tables for tea.
Together with the other children, I was given a wicker basket. Captivated by the thought of the Easter eggs, I immediately set myself to the task of finding them. As I surveyed the garden, I noticed there were daffodils. They had delicate yellow flowers. A dogwood was covered with white blossoms. A forsythia bush caught my eye. Its arching sprigs and tiny green leaves were a familiar sight.
The day was warm, and I was wearing my favorite dress. It was light yellow and had delicate buttons down the front. The basket dangled from my arm as I steadied it with my little hand. Walking toward the forsythia, I thought, this is a good place to find an Easter egg. As I got near, I glimpsed a pink hand-colored orb. Here’s one! I squealed.
Squatting down, I reached for the egg and placed it gently in the green grass that lined my basket. Is there another to find? I turned toward the house and the flowering shrubs that bordered the porch. I think these bushes are good hiding spots for Easter eggs, I said to myself. As I approached, children milled here and there searching, too. But I didn’t mind them. Nothing in the world existed except for the elusive Easter eggs, and the anticipation of delight that I’d feel when I found one.
I moved slowly from one green shrub to the next, parting the twigs gently and looking around. Yes, there was another! Hidden beneath the branches of a budding hydrangea was a beautiful gold and blue egg. It was waiting there just for me!
Years later, I cry when I remember that day. The image of myself as a girl, wandering happily in the garden and delighting in the Easter eggs, the wicker basket hanging from my little arm. It’s become the emblem of my early life and of innocence.
(Age? Four, five - Wonder of that time, new to be with children adventuresome, exploration future looks like? Value touch of counterpoint. Open free open field to explore without worry fearless. Little touch. Shrub – openness reference point)
All grown-ups were once children—although few of them remember it.
The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupery
One Sunday in April, mommy said, “Jessie, how about something fun? There’s an Easter egg hunt today, and you’re invited.” It was a beautiful spring morning. My mom helped me into the car and we traveled to the village. She approached a big house, and other people were there, too. As mommy parked the car, I glimpsed the elegant home that was hosting the event. It was white with blue shutters, and had a wide porch with cushiony chairs to sit on and little tables for tea.
Together with the other children, I was given a wicker basket. Captivated by the thought of the Easter eggs, I immediately set myself to the task of finding them. As I surveyed the garden, I noticed there were daffodils. They had delicate yellow flowers. A dogwood was covered with white blossoms. A forsythia bush caught my eye. Its arching sprigs and tiny green leaves were a familiar sight.
The day was warm, and I was wearing my favorite dress. It was light yellow and had delicate buttons down the front. The basket dangled from my arm as I steadied it with my little hand. Walking toward the forsythia, I thought, this is a good place to find an Easter egg. As I got near, I glimpsed a pink hand-colored orb. Here’s one! I squealed.
Squatting down, I reached for the egg and placed it gently in the green grass that lined my basket. Is there another to find? I turned toward the house and the flowering shrubs that bordered the porch. I think these bushes are good hiding spots for Easter eggs, I said to myself. As I approached, children milled here and there searching, too. But I didn’t mind them. Nothing in the world existed except for the elusive Easter eggs, and the anticipation of delight that I’d feel when I found one.
I moved slowly from one green shrub to the next, parting the twigs gently and looking around. Yes, there was another! Hidden beneath the branches of a budding hydrangea was a beautiful gold and blue egg. It was waiting there just for me!
Years later, I cry when I remember that day. The image of myself as a girl, wandering happily in the garden and delighting in the Easter eggs, the wicker basket hanging from my little arm. It’s become the emblem of my early life and of innocence.
(Age? Four, five - Wonder of that time, new to be with children adventuresome, exploration future looks like? Value touch of counterpoint. Open free open field to explore without worry fearless. Little touch. Shrub – openness reference point)
All grown-ups were once children—although few of them remember it.
The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupery