Ice Cream

Driving somewhere the other day, my head full of daily routine stuff and meal-timetables and family deadlines, I saw a man walking his young son home from school.  The boy was pushing a bicycle and the man was carrying his coat and school bag.  They were both walking slowly, and eating ice creams.  I imagined them talking about the school day, and what was for tea, and what the family's plans were for the weekend.  Everyday conversation and journeys, but as it was summer they were having ice cream.  I realised that observation is not enough, that sometimes we must make the summer happen, and that beyond this we are responsible for making our own happy memories and ultimately our own happiness.    

So yesterday afternoon, after a shopping trip round Monmouth, we drove deep into the woods of the Wye Valley and ate strawberries and yoghurt on a blanket under the trees and read Thomas the Tank Engine stories. Birdsong and the breeze in the trees.  A summer darkness, green and luscious, unexpected sunlight dappling through bright, young, green leaves, only an occasional car passing.  I will not forget that half-hour easily, but I am also determined to make such moments happen again.