Where I lived at the beach, Easter Sunday's were dominated by the children. By plastic colored eggs hidden amid the treasures of a 10,000 year old maritime forest, snuggled up against the sands and shells of Kiawah Island.
Yes, I have written about this time and place before, a magical decade for me and my family, my girls, our dog Clare and the crumbling marriage that eventually chased me far away. But it was those early Spring Easters that arise up in my memory today. The sweet ocean air descending upon a field filled with the joy of innocent little kids, followed closely by the joy of their smiling, protective parents with the clicking of their cameras, the reuniting of old friends.
Easter on Kiawah Island, as perfect a day ever.