I was wearing a powder blue ruffled tux, and I think it was the first time that I felt handsome.  The sun was shining and the promise of slightly melted chocolate hidden in pastel plastic eggs made the sun seem to shine a little brighter.  This was back before I had learned that there was no such thing as magic in the world.  This was before I was old enough to know that there was anything more to the day than being the one with the fullest basket.  The other kids stopped hunting with each discovery to devour their loot, but I never stopped looking.  Even as I wrapped my hand around each discovery, my eyes were already looking for the next. 

  Later as my cousins looked on with envy as I slowly, devilishly, enjoyed each treat I looked over to my grandmother sowing in her chair.  I was drawn to her hands.  How could such wrinkled hands be so nimble?  I asked her why old people had so many wrinkles.  She looked at me for a moment, laid her tools in her lap, and said to me, "Where else would we keep all of our secrets?"  Then she winked at me and went back to her craft while grandpa snored in his chair and the cousins noisily bickered.  I bit the first ear off of a new dark bunny and thought she must have more secrets than anyone else in the world.