Today is a thrilling day. Right up there with the first real snowfall, the first crocus to rise up from the earth, and the first ripe tomato fresh from the vine.

I miss homeschooling my boys more on this day than any other day. For 16 years we sat at our dining room table and tried to be productive. But it was hopeless. Because we all could not keep our eyes from the tree across the street. Days before we watched a single leaf float and swirl down, followed after a long interval by another floatie. 

Then, one morning after a hard frost, the tree disrobes in a frenzy.  And it has all the fascination of a peep show. We could not concentrate on Latin declensions. History didn’t matter. Algebra was out the window. And I didn’t care. I wanted my boys to have a sense of wonder at the glorious display in front of their faces. To see beauty and then shrug in boredom would wither our souls. So we stared.

Life offers a finite number of first snows, a limited number of days in your life when you can stare at the leaves falling. Look. See. Wonder. Give thanks.