It made perfect sense for me to stay at home and make the curtains, or James to stay at home and plumb in the radiator, but instead we went to the woods.
The Spring sunshine splashed shadows across the slowly-warming world, lending a lustre to the leaves that have been silently blanketing the earth all winter long and giving a golden glow to the trees that are waiting proudly and patiently for their Summer finery to arrive.
The air smelt of drying damp and distant water and the afternoon sunshine cast hazy halos around the trees, giving the place a fairytale feel that enchanted us with its spell.
And in amongst those silent trees, and beside that cold, bright water, we set our little boy down on his own two feet and set him free to explore.
We watched him wriggle his fingers deep into damp mud, rake his hands through a carpet of dried leaves, gingerly poke the spongy innards of a rotten branch, stroke the smooth contours of a pale, fallen trunk, dig in the soil with with a small, sturdy twig, taste the earthy goodness of soil against his tongue, crumble lacy leaf skeletons carefully between his fingers and methodically move fist-fulls of mud from one side of the path to the other.
With all the time in the world to watch, we loitered in those woods as our boy tripped and stumbled through the tree trunks and explored the awakening world.
And as we watched the wonder with which he greeted each twig, each leaf and each grain of dirt, we saw with fresh eyes the beauty of the world that we could so easily have trampled underfoot and wondered how we could ever have considered staying at home to worry about curtains and radiators at all.