This is the path I walked to get to school. For many years, many years ago. Today I’m exploring it with baby C. This place is so familiar to me, even after 15 years. Yet I can’t help but to soak it in, as if seeing everything anew. To be walking here with a child, to have walked here as a child. The weather is perfect for a winter’s day. English countryside with a few villages nestled cozily inside. Grey and misty. Fresh and earthy.
The leaves have long fallen from the majestic trees that surround us. Ah – the trees. Baby C is looking up wide-eyed as we walk under the canopy of branches. I bend down besides his pushchair to see the world through his eyes. Trees have always fascinated me too. I gauge a place by its’ trees. They stand tall, like giant anchors in the ground. A testament to all that survives and persists, while the rest of the chaos rises and recedes.
I breathe in deeply to acknowledge the haunting beauty and timeless wisdom here in this part of the world – borne by what has been left untouched. Baby C takes his own deep breath. He knows well, what I am trying to relearn. He’s wholly connected with what’s around him.
This walk began as a way of getting some fresh air and some coffee from the local grocery store. A means to an end. I couldn’t have predicted it would leave us both feeling so rewarded. My normally very chatty little one and I walk in a silence of understanding. He points to what he sees now and again, to make sure I partake in the beauty as he does. I do. This route is a relic from my school run. It was always just a part of my childhood routine. Today it’s been transformed into so much more – into something wonderful and surreal.