As we crossed at the white lines painted horizontally on the pavement, I saw a gold colored SUV. I knew we would encounter someone on the trail. We walked a bit, Hudson kicking his feet in a steady rhythm on the stroller’s foot rest. We stopped to look at tiny red berries growing in clumps of two or three on a bush. Hudson strained to get out to reach them. “These are for the birds,” I explained. “The birds eat the berries.”
We continued on the trail getting closer to the stream. As we approached, I could see two small figures playing on the bank and one larger one sitting on the concrete wall separating the trail and the water. The two boys playing were probably elementary school age. They were digging, throwing rocks, examining treasures found in the sand. Everything you would expect from a child in this setting.
All the while, “mom” sat on the edge and wrote in her notebook. Wrote. Not on her phone scrolling social media, not talking pictures for Instagram, not texting a friend, but writing. What was she writing? A fantasy tale of enchanted kingdoms? A description of the beautiful fall day and the trees, the creek? A snapshot of time as her boys played alongside the water? Whatever she was writing, it was so refreshing to see a family enjoying nature in the moment, savoring the simplicity of sand and water and words. This fellow writer has inspired me to sit alongside nature soon with my notebook and let my thoughts flow.