Spring colours

Yesterday, on Holy Saturday, I spent the afternoon attending a Memorial Service for Poet Woman's mother, who died this winter. I drove home through a bleak landscape: the browns and greys of early spring, with a dusting of white snow swirling across the pavement when the wind blew.

I arrived home to a house filled to bursting. I could hear the drum beat as I walked up the driveway. The Pseudonymous Boy band were jamming, with Older Neighbor Boy at the microphone. Another group of teenagers, their clothes covered with spring mud, had just come in from playing Ultimate Frisbee. They talked excitedly as they yanked open the refrigerator, looking for juice, their faces red from the cold and their hair tousled from the wind.

The room smelled like vinegar and steam. Red-haired Sister had bought three dozen eggs and dye. The younger kids were gathered around the table, drawing on the hard-boiled eggs with crayons and then dipping them into mugs filled with the bright colours, a ritual that represents springtime and new life.



Dandelion Niece dyeing Easter eggs.