almost Easter.

They are hope.
Tiny feet, tiny hands, they are hope.
Naked littles, fuzzy, soft and gentle,
baby blue, baby pink, pink, pink.
To think of them, my heart sings and fills to burst,
tiny feet tiny hands naked babies.
Soft and gentle,
rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye.
where have you been tiny ones?

So, it is almost Easter and with it, Springtime! Doesn't that always bring about thoughts of Easter baskets filled with sweetly colored eggs, and little fuzzy spring chicks freshly born? Easter, truly the time of renewal and rebirth, will be especially significant for our family this year as we await the arrival of our own little spring "chicks". My nephew and niece are expecting their first born. And their second born! A boy. And a girl. And our family, well, we keep peering into that Easter basket waiting for the first cracks to appear in the eggs. Waiting. Patiently. Patiently. Patiently waiting. And as the clock tick-tocks away the minutes, the hours, the days until their birth, I am sucked backward in time to the birth of another Spring baby, one who brought this same excitement and joy to our family nest - the birth of the father of these babies-yet-born. My sister's son. My nephew; the first baby who stole my heart. And it is only now that I find the significance in something written about him years ago:

M. M is Easter. I don't know why. He was the first born child of us children. He is sacred. He is an honor. He is Easter chicks and eggs and all pastel colors in a basket. He is softness and honesty and all that is right with the world and yellow ducks and hope. He is hope. And chirping birds, and springtime around the corner. Freshness. Winter is over and thank the Lord! here comes springtime. M.