Just before Christmas, my Uncle died. No #magicmoment there. But, starting to clear out the family home, we had a bitter-sweet moment.
I took Boy for a walk over the fields I had walked as a kid with my Gramp. Despite the relentless march of progress (or urban sprawl, depending on your perspective), not much has changed yet, at this end of the village.
I forgot where some of the stiles are (much to Boy’s disgust, as we doubled back on ourselves). It was the wrong time of year for mushrooms. (Probably just as well. If I can’t remember where the stiles are, I don’t rate my chances of finding the mystical spots favoured by mushrooms without Gramp). Boy showed his townie roots by getting stuck on the stile when we did find it, and diligently ignored all my attempts to get him identifying leafless trees from their shapes. About half an hour into our romp, a persistent drizzle started.
So what made it a #magicmoment?
I suspect it may be a while before Boy starts to lose his townie proclivities. (And even longer before he starts to appreciate mushrooms.) But seeing his grin as he ran, pell mell, giggling maniacally, down the field slope, gave me that warm glow inside.
For a moment, nothing else mattered. I just stood in the rain, watching.
There was something elemental and timeless in his joy. A child whooping with fun, oblivious to the rain, or our everday worries, running as fast as he could under an open sky.
Joining with Oliver’s Madhouse #magicmoments to kick off my week with some feel good factor.