The Third First Time

He doesn't likely remember what it was like to feel the leaves crunching under his feet, to hear the sound they make, to feel the excitement of the jump. He cannot articulate those memories anyway. What he does know is that this third autumn of his little life is like the first all over again. The utter joy of a sister showering him with leaves, another sister pushing him over the edge of the rock wall-him tumbling head first into the raked-high pile-releases a squeal that throws the rest of us into stitches! He doesn't likely remember and so he gobbles up the "new" experience with vigor.

Lord, let me savour each gift from you as my thirty-seventh first.