Many years ago, I had the best dream that I had ever had in all of my life. It is strange to me that I would have had this dream that particular night as life had been tumultuous and I was going through a tremendously stressful time. Nevertheless, I had the dream.
The place where I was walking was beautiful. It was a land of gently rolling hills, golden in their color and wide in their scope. There were orchards of apples and groves of oranges and vines of grapes and fruits of all kinds. There were some roads, old and quaint as one might think of leading to a small vineyard in a European village. Sometimes I would walk on these roads while other times I would wander about the trees and fields with no concern at all for direction.
Eventually, there were castles and cathedrals that were grand in their scope and yet warm and inviting at the same time. I could see them from a distance and then find myself a moment later wrapped in the comfort and safety of their corridors. The beauty and peace found in this place was without parallel.
It was not this beauty, however, that made the dream my favorite. It was not the hills or the fields or the trees or the great structures. It was not the colors of gold and red and warmth or the feelings of safety and contentment. The wonderful nature of this dream was found in one element. It was my company.
In this dream, I was walking through this land with my daughter. She was five.
We spoke of the trees and the plants and the fruit. We looked up at the castles and cathedrals and she asked me what a cathedral was for and I told her that it was a great big church. Most of the time, though, we just walked. I was with my child in a land where there was nothing and no one else. It was just me and her, walking and talking and being together. She had a cloth bag with her in which she placed items that she collected from our walk. A leaf, a rock, an orange. And every once in a while, I would realize that she had set her bag down and forgotten it along the way. We would back-track and find it and it didn’t really matter how long it took because we had all of the time in the world.
Eventually, in the halls of a cathedral, my daughter became too tired to walk anymore. I picked her up to carry her the rest of the way and I realized that she had again lost her bag. I was not sure if I should go find it or just carry her home and I woke up too soon to decide.
As I sit here now, I know exactly what I would have done. I would have carried her and found the bag. The extra looking would have made my time with her that much longer.
Like Walking Trees 