Gift no. 1

The most special gift this world knows has many forms. Shapeshifting, if you wish; structured by the daily wind blows, moving its position along with the rays of sun. It pours down with the rain, raises up with steam, runs from your tap. No matter how many years pass, how the world turns around, the gift shall stay the same. It’s in the grain yields and between the leafs of an apple-tree. Passes through the wearying effort of workers, giant buildings that still whisper sacrifices; turns left to go by the care of a mother and father, landing on a breakfast plate. It hides the books and minds of dedicated doctors who know how to heal; announces itself with a cry, to leave years later silently. If you wish, you may pass it forward in any of its forms. The gift never runs out from giving; it can multiply nearly endlessly (with few natural limits). Some may try to steal your gift; sometimes you may lose it yourself, or a time comes when the gift itself decides you no longer need it. Before it comes to that, it remains by your side regardless of conditions, like the most loyal servant you could never buy. When the leafs fall down and when the warmth of your home shelters you from winter snowdrifts. When you lose your way and when you're feeling down, the gift can manifest as a helping hand.

The first gift you receive, passed on through generations and through human kindness.

The gift of life.