Sunny Days

Easter Sunday: a wide-brimmed hat with streamers
down the back, white gloves to the wrist,
a polka-dotted dress - everyone filing in
to the small white clapboard church,
hushed, reverential. The priest and altar boys
came out, the census swung back and forth,
the incense wafted. Up in the balcony,
we sang the Magnificat, hearts swelling.

Later, we all went to Grandma's,
for a family meal, men congregating
in the front room,
women busy in the kitchen.

No matter how carefully we set the table,
Grandpa always sat down and "played
checkers" with the salt and pepper shakers,
thumping them one way or the other;
we could never get them right.
The women would crack up laughing.

I remember coloured baskets, with chocolate.
Then, when I was raising my own kids,
there were easter egg hunts in the back yard,
Stephanie finding the low-lying candy,
Jeff skidding along on the ground,
to grab as much as he could.

Then we'd climb Knox Mountain
and fly kites on the grassy field
overlooking the lake.

Sunny days.