surprised by toy

     Lincoln Logs.  I could not believe my eyes. I walked into my friend Jason's computer room and found this box with its wooden pieces covering the floor.  His young son Hunter must have been playing with them early yesterday morning while his parents readied themselves for work.  It has been decades since I last encountered Lincoln logs.  When I was a kid, I loved building log cabins  with these carved wooden pieces.  They fit togethere so neatly, each piece, and it pleased me set each piece down, to construct a wall with my own hands.  Completing the green roof and finally seeing the finished log cabin made my little heart leap and smile.  Joyful old feelings immediately came over me upon seeing these green and brown pieces again.  Long lost memories and instant recognition, pleasing to the senses.  Visions of early childhood flooded my mind. 
     Did my parents get them for my brother and I, or did a friend or relative give them to us?  Was the set a hand me down?  I can't remember, nor does it matter.  What is true, I believe, is that Lincoln Logs were the first toy that I played with in America, when I was four years old.  This little piece of long forgotten memory that has somehow broken away from its rooted past and traveled many years to visit me here, in my present moment.  It seems a kind of miracle, something I did not know I dreamed of, wished for, until it happened.  The texture of the wood, its rounded shape, its sanded surfaces, its carved-in edges, it's simplicity of design - my new American life.   Those patient little hands worked slowly and quietly then.  Wonder and delight in my eyes.