Well, dear," your husband says heartily, heading for the store, " I suppose I ought to
get a few extra dozen eggs."
"Couldn't we skip that part this year?" you plead, remembering previous nights of easter egg coloring." Let's settle
for the candy kind. That's what they really like best. At least to eat."
"You mean not color any? Why, honey, it wouldn't be Easter unless we did that. I mean - you and I."
You laugh and say. " okay. I guess it wouldn't."
And you remember how your parents used to stay up half the night playing egg artist with watercolors.
And the years you two have perched side by side at kitchen counters dipping those pesky white ovals and tracing names and little messages with crayons and exclaiming over each other's cleverness, And how they always smell so good that you invariably peel a couple and eat them with salt and pepper before you go to bed.

And you guess there is something about an egg; an old fashioned,elementary, hen-laid egg that has something to do with the basic valves of Easter. That reflects it's true significance for more than baskets and bunnies and jelly beans ever can.
because, no matter how you fancy it up, there is nothing artificial about an egg.
Maybe that's why, even if they don't eat them, children want to touch them, and hold them and work with them,and find them in the nests along with everything else on Easter morning. An egg, like the grass and flowers and birds that have suddenly burst into being all about us, is directly related to life and newness.
An egg is the very beginning.

Unknown

P.S.
Have a Great day,
Love,
Angel