Rain was forecast for Easter Sunday. It didn’t rain at all. Instead the air was warm, the sky—a soft blue with wisps of white clouds. Quiche Lorraine was a success, despite a small portion of the bottom edge of the crust burning. I could see it when I looked under the glass pie plate. I was happy to hear when one person said they do not usually like quiche, but this one they liked. I once had a quiche that was really burned, the broccoli blackened. It was mostly inedible and unappetizing, but I ate around it too busy to take it back to where I will not go for a very long time.
I always set my eyes on you when I walk on by.
I stopped for you purple pansy.
You are a color burst of purples and yellow—
A faraway galaxy of my imagination.
An internally quiet morning,
raindrops—tink, tink—on the
outside to the inside—tink, tink.