Mindful Miles

The world always seems to hum a different tune when I’m walking with my daughter, Ro. My usual grown-up stride slows to her curious amble, and my carefully curated thoughts give way to a delightful, unpredictable stream of consciousness. It’s like seeing the familiar paths of Poole, the very ones I trace alone, for the very first time.

Today, the sun was playful, peeking through the leafy canopy above us as we ambled towards the park.

Ro: (pointing a tiny finger at a spiderweb glistening with dew) “Look, Mummy! It’s a fairy trampoline!”

Me: (kneeling down to her level, marveling at the intricate silk) “It really does look like that, doesn’t it? Imagine the fairies bouncing so gently, so they don’t break the silky strings.”

Ro: “Do spiders know they’re making trampolines for fairies, or do they just think it’s for flies?”

Me: (smiling) “Hmm, that’s a brilliant question! Maybe they just build amazing homes, and the fairies find a way to use them for fun.”

Ro: (Stopping suddenly, eyes wide, pointing to a leaf) “Mum! A ladybug! Look at her little red coat with black dots!”

Me: (leaning in gently) “Oh, she’s so beautiful, isn’t she? A tiny little visitor.”

Ro: “Is she going to fly home to her mummy?”

Me: “Maybe, or maybe she is just on an adventure to find the perfect leaf for a nap.”

We continued, Ro skipping ahead, then pausing abruptly beside a cluster of daisies.

Ro: “Mummy, if flowers could talk, what do you think this one would say?” (She leans in, pretending to listen.)

Me: “Oh, that’s a tough one! Maybe it would say, ‘Hello, I’m soaking up the sunshine and making the world pretty!’”

Ro: “Or maybe it would say, ‘I’m sleepy! I want to close my eyes and wait for the moon!’”

Me: “That’s a lovely thought, sweet pea. Maybe it does feel sleepy at night.”

As we passed a particularly gnarled old tree with roots like giant knuckles, Ro pressed her hand against the bark.

Ro: “This tree looks like it has secrets. Do you think it tells them to the little baby trees?”

Me: “I bet it does. Old trees have seen so much, haven’t they? They’ve felt the rain and the sun and watched generations of people and animals go by. They probably have the best stories.”

Ro: “I wish I could sit inside its secrets. Would it tell me about the dinosaurs?”

Me: (imagining a tiny human nestled in ancient wood) “Maybe not dinosaurs, darling, but certainly about lots of birds, and squirrels, and children like you who come to visit it.”

Reaching the park, Ro spotted a bright yellow ball left near a bench.

Ro: “Oh! Someone lost their happy ball! Do you think they’re sad now?”

Me: “They might be a little sad. But maybe someone else will find it and play with it, and then the ball will be happy again.”

Ro: (picking it up, examining it thoughtfully) “So, can things be happy even if people aren’t around?”

Me: (a pause, a deeper thought sparked by her simple question) “I think… yes, Ro. I think beauty and joy are always there, waiting to be found, even if no one is looking. And when we do look, we just make them even brighter.”

We left the ball for its owner or a new adventurer, and as she dashed towards the swings, her laughter bubbling up, I realized how much I adore these walks. They aren’t just about movement; they’re about quiet conversations, unexpected insights, and the pure, unfiltered joy of seeing the world anew, through her eyes.

It’s a gift I cherish with every fairy trampoline, tiny ladybug and secret-keeping tree we encounter.