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Photo from my Instagram |
I have vague memories from when I was a little kid, of a particular Easter morning. It was after one of the few times we had gone to church and I was walking down the narrow brick path that ran along the south side of our house.
The crocuses were just starting to bloom and I remember thinking how pretty they looked and how, before they fully opened, it looked as if we were growing a garden of Easter eggs.
I somehow feel connected to that very brief moment every spring when the crocuses reappear.