Most the kids were bigger than me and I had to carry a huge basket, a “hand-me-down” that dragged on the ground when I walked.
Pastor John inspected the chalk line. When all toes were behind it, he yelled, “Go!”
Children stampeded across the park to the pine grove where the eggs were hidden, not plastic candy-filled eggs, but real eggs colored with bright dyes.
I went down, tangled in my basket. The turf tasted pungent and felt slimy cold against my cheeks. I looked down at my muddy shirt and rose to my feet.
The stampede had reached the pines. Most kids were bent over or on all fours, harvesting eggs. I discarded my ruined basket and charged into action. It was hard to make my way against the rush of children returning with full baskets.
I headed for the tree in the far corner of the park, hoping nobody had made it that far. I could not believe it, a glimmer of pink. An egg had been overlooked. I breathed a sigh of joy and carefully bent over to pick up my prize. Fatso Jim Bass came out of nowhere. His elbow flipped me aside and sent me sprawling across the lawn.
Something cold tickled my cheek. Leaves rustled. Two baby rabbits were playing. One had sniffed me. The mother rabbit sat stoically behind them, standing with her ears erect, eyeing me intently. I reached out to pet one of the bunnies. Mother had enough and bounded away. The young ones followed. Three white tails bounced across the yard.
I smiled to myself and I was ready to abandon my sanctuary. Then I saw it, a beautiful yellow egg, shining in a beam of sunlight filtering through the tree where the mother rabbit had been sitting.
William Russeth
Fires of Belenus
High Adventure in Ancient Celtica
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