no bunny there
When I said to my dog, "We're going to the harbor to see if we can spot the Easter Bunny swimming in the bay or stunt-riding on the back of an orca," two things were certain. Maisie's comprehension of my words had fizzled out after the infinitely thrilling, happy-dance-inspiring phrase going to the harbor, and any eavesdroppers rapidly deduced that Maisie's mommy had irrefutably lost her grip on reality.
On the latter charge, legal counsel (in the form of a marshmallow Peep donning a necktie) advised that, from this point forward, I respond with only, "No comment".
I'd also confessed to Dennie that, while the shutterbug in me hoped to find tulips and flowering trees in bloom, I had but one wish of the Easter Bunny this year: that we might spy a seal out in the bay. It had been no less than fifteen years since we'd last shared the pleasure of such a spectacle.
Attired in our holiday finery--jeans and sweatshirts topped off with baseball caps, windproof jackets, and hiking boots (we may not have been dressy, but at least we chose very springlike colors)--the three of us arrived at the park, expecting crowds, finding tranquility. There were others, of course, but fewer than usual, at least in the late morning hours. We ambled along the trails and over grassy lawns before stopping for a picnic lunch, dallying for a while to watch the waves, the people, their dogs, and the two kites that had just floated upward into the bluest blue sky. Then we hiked the full promenade loop all the way to the other side of the marina and back again, claiming random benches along the way simply to enjoy the views...and, admittedly, to rest our achey feet. Dennie and I hadn't made that entire journey in more than a decade. Maisie never had. She was so confident, so full of life and wonder, joy and energy. A whole colony of seals could not have enchanted us more. Not to mention, as others often paused to say, our girl looked absolutely precious in her specially selected pastel gingham bandana.
By the time we'd re-entered the park, we were three jelly-legged-tired-but-happy hikers. In our absence, the kites had multiplied. The original pair remained--one of them impressively long and mesmerizing as it spun in the breeze like an enormous windsock--but so many others had joined them, kites in myriad shapes and colors, as well as one giant inflatable fish (we think) that bobbed along the grass full of hope, yet never fully realizing its dreams of flight. Another inflatable--a great winged dragon--hovered over the horizon's cityscape like the opening scene of a comedy-horror creature feature. Individuals, couples, and groups gathered, pointing fingers and cameras toward the sky by the dozens.
Without any encouragement from us, Maisie leapt up to an elevated patch of lawn. Dennie and I perched beside her on the bordering stone wall, adding to the curious crowd of onlookers. While our dog's interest in this unscheduled festival of kites could be summed up as nonexistent, she contentedly settled into the lush grass, eyes bright, nose twitching, ears flapping, and smile broadening with every rush of cooling ocean air, every whiff of her beloved sea. It was a sublime ending to a sublimely springy Easter eggspedition.
We'd trekked many miles. Hour after hour, we'd scanned the choppy waters of the marina and bay, but on this salubrious Sunday, it turns out, there was no bunny there. And that's okay. The day had been perfected already by the grinning faces of my favorite peeps, kites that colored the sky like daylight fireworks, and the serendipitous glimpse of a sweet, spotted harbor seal surfacing in the marina.
Perhaps there is an Easter Bunny, after all.