A Peaceful Easter Sunday | Slow Fiction Story For Adults | Rewind

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If so, please do hit follow and why not leave us a review. It really helps the show and I love to read them. Those of you in the northern hemisphere will be, like us, in the throes of spring right now. There's great, they're feeling a bedding in when it's dark and cold outside, and days spent curled up on the sofa with a good book in hand.

But even so, it's hard to deny the glory of spring, but, appearing on the trees, the sun warming your face and the birds singing their merry tunes. It's magical and brings a lightness into our lives that we didn't realize we were missing. We're gonna enjoy all this and more in tonight's story as we enjoy a picturesque Easter Sunday

What could be more relaxing?

“So get comfy, and if you're ready, let's begin.”

On Easter Sunday, it was a tradition for the green family, together at one of the family homes scattered across the country, and share a meal together. This year, the responsibility of hosting fell to Delia, the youngest member of the family. Though these days, having children off her own, Delia did not feel so very young at all. The year before, Delia's older sister Jennifer had hosted at their home in the gather.

They'd all stroll down after lunch was over, to frolic in the sea, watching the lazy

seam of water melting into the sand.

The year before that it was their parents' turn, the two of them in their 70s more full of energy than Delia could even hope to be now, putting on a spread that would put a royal

“banquet to shame to could have had the whole village.”

But now, this year, they were all coming to Delia's little farm cottage in the Gloucester shire Hills. There was much to prepare. Delia and her husband, Louis, arose early, just as the fresh April sunlight poked its finger through their cartons.

Delia, Blay or I'd, switched on the cattle, and put the meat in the oven so that it could

cook slowly over the course of the day. Louis, meanwhile, snuck outside with a basket of chocolate eggs so that he could hide them in all sorts of places around the garden before the children woke up. By the time he returned, there was a mug of steaming tea waiting for him. The morning kiss on the cheek, and an hour of blissful quiet companionship, for just

the two of them. Peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, dicing herbs, and mixing the batter for a victorious sponge. Before the sound of tiny, thunderous feet on the stairs, told them that the elephants, I mean the kids, were awake.

When they wanted pancakes for breakfast, they said, Peter, with his pajama top, twisted round the wrong way, and Katie, curious Katie, already opening the cupboards, searching for the flower, the sugar, the eggs, okay, Delia said, ushering them over to the table. Two plates of pancakes coming up, and then you both need to shower, granny and grandpa will be here soon.

Marcibly, in fact, granny and grandpa were running late. All of the family agreed that arriving late was the politest thing to do, and arriving early, practically unparadable.

“How could you expect anybody to be ready on time these days?”

They turned up shortly after midday, with a chug and bang, in the rusty old Ford Mondale, Delia's mother in a floral print dress and cardigan, her father in his customary dark brine suit, and soon after them, Jennifer and her husband arrived, along with their daughter, Delia. My my, Delia thought, going out to meet them, didn't Delia get taller and prettier each

time she saw her, the years dropping by like seconds, and she just had a moment to give her niece a hug, before her own children, who idolized their older cousin, tumbled from the house in the squall, and carried her off inside. I can't believe how grown up she's getting, Delia told Jennifer, looping her arm around her elbow, and leading her in.

You're telling me, Jennifer replied with a smile, and a little role of her eye. It's 12, going on 23, inside the kitchen was warm, and full of the rich, her thief's mouth of roasting vegetables, and slow-cooked meat.

for just a minute, and then returning to notice how all your hard work had transformed

the air in the house.

“Lewis brought out a jug of iced lemon juice, poured the cloudy liquid into glass tumblers,”

and handed them all around, while Delia checked on the potatoes. Ooh yes, they were coming along nicely. While longer and they would have that golden crust, those dark and crispy ridges, and inside she hoped, ooh, she was sure, soft, and fluffy as a cloud. I thought, she said, turning back to her family once she was satisfied all was going to

plan with the food.

I thought that we could all of us take a walk together before lunch, so that we can rustle

up an appetite. I hear that there are a flock of newborn lambs just a few fields down, and then once we've come back and eaten, then may well be an Easter surprise for all you kids. Katie and Peter let out cues of excitement, but Lydia, who was not a kid, and certainly far too old for surprises, merely purseed her lips and blinked.

Delia's own two, catching sight of their beloved cousins, show of indifference, reigned their giggles in, but Delia could still see the warm glow of childish anticipation in

their cheeks, and Lydia, she knew, when it came to it, would not be able to resist

getting involved too.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Delia's mother said, draining the last drops”

of her lemon juice. Oh, you kids? All three of them replied, "Yes, goreny." The tickle-left out of the cottage, and walked down the lane for a few minutes, quiet at the best of times, and completely car-free on Easter Sunday, before climbing over a style

in the fence line, and entering a field. The whole world turned green, a carpet of grass and rolled down a gentle slope, until it reached another fence line, or a couple of horses, one bay and one grey, could be seen grazing happily.

“Wild flower blossomed everywhere, like a scattered handful of nature's gems, pink and yellow”

primrose, the upright blue petitions of corn flower, and here and there, the unexpected red flash of a poppy. Paros slipped in and out of waxy, shining hedros, and butterflies lifted themselves out of the grass, where their feet came down, skipping and fluttering around their ankles for a few moments, before dissolving into the air.

They walked on, keeping their feet to the dry dirt path. The children up ahead, trailing their fingers through the hatches. Jennifer and her husband, Rabb, were telling them how just a few days before, something rather peculiar had washed up on the sandy beach of the gower. They'd been walking the dog, dying by the water's edge, when Rabb had spotted something

dark and glinting in the surf. It was an old bottle. Thinking it was a piece of rubbish, a beer bottle that someone had their responsibly tossed into the sea once they were done with it. He splashed out ten as well as, and lifted it from the tide.

I just want to notice it was no beer bottle. Rabb said, "It was too big for that, and much older too. The glass was worn and easy, but you could still tell that it was an elaborate piece, with an embossed panel and a flitted lip. It looked like one of those old medicine bottles.

And tell them what was inside it?"

"Well, I had to pour all of the sea water out of it to get a proper look," Rabb explained.

“"But once it was empty, we could see that there was a small model of a ship inside that.”

Small, but intricately design. You could see each plank and rivet of the hull, the delicate craftsmanship of the mast, and you could still see a number etched on its pro." 1888 1888

Delia repeated, "They'd reached the bottom of the field by now, and she pointed them over another style.

The children had already gone ahead.

As in the year 1888, do you think that's when the little ship was made?" "Well, that's just the thing," said Jennifer.

“"It could be when the model was made, or it could have been a model made much more recently,”

but of some ship that was built in 1888." Side Lewis, putting her to hand to help Jennifer over the style. "That is curious. But this thing was old," Rabb said, "very old." "I'm sure of it.

I mean, it was all grown over with tiny mollusks, meniscule, clam like things, and see the other growth." "And I don't know," he added. "I could just feel it. I felt like I'd found some very treasure, something very, very old."

"Well, what did you do with it?" "Dealy I asked him."

“"Well, I kept it for a few days," Rabb admitted.”

"I'll have to unashell for my shed." "Bah, I began to feel it done something wrong, like even though I'd found some treasure. It wasn't mine to keep, so, and here, he glanced at them almost shily. I went back down to the ocean last night, and threw it back in the sea. Dealy I nodded.

She could see the sands in that, back where it belongs," she added. "Yes," Rabb nodded. "I," did now reach the field where the lambs had been born. They were alerted to the fact, and drawn out of Rabb's story, by the calls of Katie and Peter from up ahead.

They were pointing across the field where a flock of use were eyeing them curiously, flicking their ears, and chewing idly on cuts of grass. The lambs were less cautious, already trotting over towards the children, with inquisitive faces. Their cotton tails bent in this way, and that.

How young they seemed to deal yet, how young compared to herself, and even her own children, how they were still curious creatures, young lambs still, the both of them. Dealy I called the children over, and handed them some thinly chopped up carrot sticks, which it slipped into her pocket before coming out. "Here," she said, "feet them to the little lambs, but careful."

She watched as Katie and Lydia held out the carrot sticks to the lambs, who gave them one little sniff, and then nibbled at them with their teeth, chewing them down, and bleeding with delight.

And then Peter, who'd been hanging back a little nervously, has was always his way.

That reserved he had, that boyish timidity, reached out his hand to a little lamb. "The lambs duck out its soft, wet nose, then took the carrot stick from his fingers. And Peter let out a quick, astonished giggle, as those are prized, that it to even happen. And looked around smiling, as though to see if anyone else had seen what he'd just seen. The use, seeing that they came in peace, had ambled over now, and the lambs ran

back to the group, to beg for more carrot sticks. But soon enough, the carrot sticks were

“all eaten, and the lambs were content. The kids waved goodbye to the lambs, and Peter, who”

had grown quickly attached to the sweet white bundles of wool, compiled on the adults to waive goodbye to. Then they all made their way back the way they'd come, climbing the same styles, retracing their steps. Their timing was perfect. When Delia opened the oven door, it excelled a billow of steam, which she'd battered away with her oven-mitted hands.

Once it had cleared, she peered inside, with the food sizzling away with end.

"What a divine smell that is," her mother said, and the others made noises in agreement

“and appreciation. "That's hope," said Delia, "that it tastes off as good as it smells."”

"If history is anything to go by," Jennifer said. "It's sure too." "Louis gathered everyone up and sat them at the table. Then helped Delia bring dish after dish of food over. A golden roast chicken, honey roast carrots, parsnips with parmesan,

potatoes roasted, and mashed. Delia wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then pulled

it over her head and hung it on the back of the kitchen door. She took her seat just as Louis was pouring out a glass of ruby red wine for the adults. "Can I have some?"

“Delia piped up, which caused her mother to glare at her. "You, young lady, can dream”

on," she said, and everyone around the table laughed. "Louis caught up to poor Lydia a glass of ribina into a wine glass before handing it to her, and she smiled at him gratefully. "That she seemed to say, with dee." Keete and Peter, though, had their ribina in their normal cups. Delia asked her father to do the honors of cutting the meat, and with great ceremony he stood up at the head of the

table, sliding the knife in great sweeps down a sharpening steel before cutting the chicken, passing it out. Plates were passed, too, and fro, accumulating broccoli and carrot, cabbage, and utils of gravy. At last, they tucked in, and then commenced the contented silence of hungry people satisfied. Punctuated only now, and then, by people passing compliments to the chef, or saying that they really must get the recipe.

Soon enough, the meal was finished. Stomachs were full. The children helped clear the table, balancing empty plates, and dishes of leftovers in their wobbling palms as they transported them to the kitchen sink. "Oh, Keete," Delia said when the table was cleared. "That will do. We can do the rest later. For now, let's head outside. There's a surprise waiting for us." She led them into the garden, where Lewis was waiting at the top of the lawn.

In this hand, he held an egg, boiled beyond belief the day before by Delia, and painted late last night with some old oil paints they found in an upstairs cupboard. Gurdles of zig-zagging blue, little yellow flowers, a white painted top. "Do you know what this is?" Lewis asked, looking from Keete to Peter to Lydia. "Lidia just said her hands upon her hips, but Peter said, "It's needs to egg." "That's right," Lewis said,

finger to tap the egg. "That's not the chocolate egg," he said, sounding a little suspicious.

He had, after all, been preparing himself for plenty of chocolate today, and so far, he hadn't had a bit. "That's real egg."

“"Right again," Lewis said. "This one isn't chocolate, but I will tell you a secret."”

He beckoned with his hand. "You'll have to lean in clothes?" Keete and Peter stepped eagerly towards their father, and Delia noticed that Lydia, in spite of herself, leaned

the nearing to listen to. "This is a secret," Lewis said, in a heightened theatrical whisper.

"There are lots of eggs, real chocolate eggs hidden around the garden, and it's your job to find them." "Are you ready?" Keete and Peter nodded. Lydia squinched up her eyes. "OK," Lewis

“said, "off you go." Keete and Peter trotted off down the lawn, and only able to put up”

a resistance for a few seconds. Lydia gave up and followed them. "For long, everyone was creeping around the garden, searching high and low for Easter eggs. They were hidden in the shrubbery. This one's laid out on the flower beds. One had even been balanced in the arms of a garden gnome. "Look at that," Lydia said to Peter, as he scanned his eyes along the lawn. She pointed up into the narrowed bark of the crab

bubble tree, where, nestled in one of its knotted crooks, and full of eggs, glittered. Peter pressed the finger to his lips, swearing silent. "Hangs mommy?" he whispered, reaching up into the bows of the tree. At the base of the willow tree, a small hoard of eggs lay in a pile. Lydia found those, sweeping back the carton of branches, and emerging with a bright pink smile on her face. And down at the very bottom of the garden, in the narrow brick that froze

over in the winter, and dried up in the summer. But at this dawning moment of spring, flowed at full spade. Katie noticed something glittering under the babbling surface of the water. "Fools gold," she whispered, dunking her hand into the cool stream. "What peri treasure?" but closing her hand around the object, she withdrew a gold-wrapped egg.

"Taddy!" she called, giggling. "This one's all wet!" never the last. She wiped it off

on the leg of her tongue grease, and slipped the egg into her basket, alongside the others. Soon, the hunt was over. All of the eggs have been found. Most lay in piles in each basket, though some were being consumed already. The only sign of them, the brown chocolatey residue, staining the children's lip, and the grandparents too. "Who is time we headed off?" said Jennifer, looping her arm around Delia's shoulder. "Astu?" said Delia's mother,

“crouching down to give the children a hug, and slip a secret five-pound note”

into each of their closing fists. "I scream, money!" she told them, with a little wink. And so, Delia and Louis, and Katie and Peter, stood at the front door of their house, waving their family away. The Ford Mondeo rattled into action, and disappeared, chucked chugging down the lane, followed by the sleek and silent electric car, the rab and Jennifer drove.

The children were tired, the carled up on the sofa, boots open and unread in their laps,

“slowly unpeeling Easter eggs, and slipping the chocolate into their mouths.”

Delia and Louis, meanwhile, finished the washing up. Louis squeezed washing up liquid into the empty serving dishes, chasing them with hot water from the tap, that sent the soothing smell of soap, suds, and lemon rising into the air. He scrubbed and scoured each one, with the shirts leaves rolled up around his elbows, and when the dried food and grease had been wiped clear, he'd hand the dish

to Delia. He would dry it off with a tea towel, and return it to the cupboard where it belonged.

This, for years now, had been their method. He washing, she drying, quiet, and content, in the clockwork intimacy of their marriage. Oh dear, said Delia, her eyes falling upon the victorious sponge cake that said, pristine and untouched on the glass cake stand. The day was going so pleasantly that we completely forgot to cut the cake. Well said, Louis, wiping his hands on his shirt front,

“and smiling at Delia. What's up, you and I have a slice now?”

Through the doorway, Delia could see Katie and Peter passed out on the sofa.

She said, "We really should wake the kids up and tighten them to bed." But Louis came up to her, planted his hands on the Delia-Cut skin of her upper arms and placed a kiss on her cheek. For a moment, her senses were full of the smell of him, the dish soap, and nutmeg, and the wood-smoke of his colon. Come on, he said, "We can take a little moment of peace, but we find sleeping there a little while longer."

“And Delia sighed and smiled. He was right, a little piece sounded nice.”

She fished a knife from the drawer and sliced two generous portions of cake, which she slid onto small porcelain dishes, which she placed on the table. Meanwhile, Louis poured two glasses of red wine. How decadent? Delia remarked to have wine with cake, and Louis laughed and said it was just what they deserved. And so, Delia and her husband sat down at their table. Their table covered in

walls and pork marks, heat stains and biral marks from where their unwieldy children had hatched graffiti while their parents' bags were turned. Delia took a sip of wine, cut the end of her cake's lice with a fork, and had a taste. Define, she thought. Just divine. When she looked across the table at Louis, she saw her own face, her own feelings, reflected back at her, of contentment and peace,

and the simple satisfaction of a beautiful Easter Sunday complete. They sat there for a good while longer, happy in the simplicity of each other's presence, while their children slept soundly in the next room, and the dark lights of the sunset. It's oranges, and pinks, and dancing red, flickered, and fell across the kitchen wall. Wishing you sweet dreams, and a magical night's sleep.

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