The Goose, the Squirrel, the Deer & Me

As I sit down to write, a goose appears outside my window.

Then another.

And then his whole family.

Welcome to my summer break with the kids.

There's a pile of pinecones on the veranda and a baby deer, who is clearly lost. Or maybe not, because a few moments later, a squirrel arrives. He doesn't run away when my 10-year-old heads out. It seems they are used to humans.

The children who stayed here before us have built a teepee with large branches on the tree just beyond our cottage.

The forest feels friendly.

I forget what I'd even sat down to write about.

Clearly the sign of a good holiday!

The rustle of the trees makes me look outside again. I wonder if the small, round, dark berries are edible. I decide not to find out for a change.

My kids disappear and reappear periodically, normally when their tummies start rumbling. Nobody has asked me what time it is.

No itinerary. Nothing to achieve.

It is so still and I realise that I don't need to be anywhere. How rarely we allow ourselves to just stop.

No 10,000 steps. No sleep optimisation. No adequate protein. No deep breathing.

Because the body knows exactly what to do here. The body knows exactly how to integrate when at rest. Rest, rejuvenate, create, play.

No morning routine for the squirrel. No parenting advice for the goose. And I doubt the little deer has thought about whether he's fully in the moment.

At the clinic, in helping people work out how to get better, there are very specific things that need changing. But sometimes the prescription is subtraction.

Less noise. Less rushing. Less input.

I look outside again.

The baby deer has gone, the geese have moved on, and the squirrel is still pottering around as if he owns the place.

And I remember what I sat down to write about. Something completely different.

I think I'll leave it until next week.