Yesterday we walked in the woods, my daughter and I, she talking of a princess who lived in a tree with her mother, me looking for sticks for making a dolls raft later. We were both busy with our ideas and impressions, each occupied in their own way, yet we were together.
We showed each other things we’d seen: she, a ‘door’ in a tree that led to the ‘tree palace’, me, a branch with good joins and curves for whittling. We were both stilled and calmer than we are indoors, surrounded by the tangled green of the woods, the sound of a stream, the singing of birds, and absorbed in carefully making our own way over the uneven ground, yet we walked hand in hand. I felt her small gloved hand in mine, her strong bony fingers curled tight around my hand, and we were perfectly lost in our own thoughts but never alone.
This is what good story making feels like, being in the woods together.