
And the eggs were hidden and hard to find but the grass was green and the gorse rich with flowers smelling of coconut. Shy violets and celandine begin to bloom and dot the lane with colour.

Tangled in the twisted branches of the ancient gorse bushes secret golden eggs lay in small clutches.

We walked across the top of the hill to look at the sea. In the lane the high stone walls sheltered us from the worst of the wind. On the top our ears were blown flat, eyes narrowed to small slits. But the sea was huge and dancing. And on the way back we helped the children find more hidden eggs, wrapped in bright foil colours and shining.
But we did not catch even a glimpse of the Easter Hare. Maybe she was resting.
But we did not catch even a glimpse of the Easter Hare. Maybe she was resting.


