A Walk in the Woods

It’s raining. It was raining when we took our dog for a run in the woods, and it was still raining when we returned home. But that’s okay, the Earth needs rain.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting with my laptop, writing, while my six-year-old daughter is sitting on the sofa with my old (and frustratingly slow) laptop, writing her own story.

We met a man in the woods.

That’s not the title of her story, it’s a fact. Yet, instead of scaring us – which, having read Kate Atkinson’s When Will There be Good News, I was preparing myself for – he inspired us. He told us that he’s a member of the group which looks after our local woodland: the group aims to increase community involvement in conservation and enjoyment of this precious landscape.

It’s a place we often go. My daughter has decided to write him a story about her walk... and looking for acorns and squelchy mud and autumn leaves and running in the breeze... and, I fear, she will grow to be a better writer than me. No, I don’t fear it, I know it. And, you know, that’s okay.

I want more for my children than I ever wanted for myself: I continue to strive for myself of course, but in part, this is also for them. I want my daughter to be a better writer, a better person, make a bigger difference in the world, to believe that anything is possible. I want it all for her.