I couldn’t shake the joy of wildflowers that spring. Bluebonnets, buttercups, Indian paintbrushes bloomed in abundance roadside, painting the world blue, pinkish white, and red-orange.  Texas dogwoods added their soft hues while honeysuckle vines slowly unfolded along fence and abandoned gate.

I remember rain falling that Easter, cool, crystalline drops.  I remember racing, laughing, for the patio and shelter; I remember cheap, plastic eggs coloring the yard like wildflowers.  Days like today, I can almost hear my grandmother’s soft, ready laughter and taste the slightly melted chocolate of a Hershey bar left too long in the heat.