our boy's first easter; our first holiday as three. we rose before the sun and flew north clutching a soft rabbit with floppy ears, a gift from a smitten grandfather. new york city welcomed us with a quick landing, a quicker cab line, and forsythia bushes in full, bright bloom. we joined family for a chatty brunch on the upper west side and a slow stroll through central park. i thought of easter, one year past, when our baby was not yet spoken into my spirit, but was very much a prayer on my breath. i thought of how i hope he remembers these things to be a pillar of our home, of our time together: how we gathered with dear ones around the table. how we made room for more. how we gave thanks, especially when things were good. how we paid attention, to daffodils and geese and minutes so sweet they made us ache as they unfolded. how we celebrated everything. how we paused to mark seasons and time. how we held moments (held blessings, held each other) in the palms of our hands.