Through The Eyes Of A Child

Photo by Jorge Barros on Unsplash

Despite living in a suburb that is only 25 minutes from a major city, our back yard leads into a magical, untouched forest. There are no trails there—it’s town reservation land—so we often take walks in there to explore.

It’s quite a magical place, these woods. Although there are houses just 50-100 yards away, it feels as though there is no one around for miles, and it doesn’t appear that many (if any) other people go in there. When it snows, the only foot prints are animal tracks. When the ground is clear, we have to very carefully pick our way through brambles and climb over downed logs—it’s a true nature adventure right beyond our back fence.

In the winter, we follow trails of deer and coyote prints through silent, freshly fallen snow. There have been times we’ve walked in and are met with a dozen or more white tails bouncing away. A magical place indeed, and we are so lucky to have such easy access to it.

Once when my daughter was five, she and I were exploring just before dusk. We made our way back to a rock wall that crosses the woods, and based on the fact that our house was built in 1915, I’d guess that this rock wall is at least that old as well. As we approached the wall, we both stood silently as the forest settled around us. I suggested to my daughter that maybe the rock wall was the entry way to the fairy forest, and the wonder that washed across her face was pure magic.

She let this sink in for a moment, then she turned toward me as her face became very serious.

“Do you think we’ve gone too far?” she whispered.

The gravity with which she said this far surpassed her five years, and while it was funny and cute, it also gave me pause. It’s so easy to take a walk through the woods and notice the shapes of trees, find rocks to climb, and listen for the scampering of little feet through the leaves. But what we often forget is that children do this and so much more.

To a child, a rock wall is not just a beautiful old structure. It’s full of wonder and what-ifs and more questions than can even be asked. A giant rock is not just something to climb on. It’s a mountain, a fortress, a castle in the sky.

Did I think we’d gone too far? No, of course not. But to her, the expanse of forest that stood before us was larger than life. It was mystical and unknown—and probably a little bit scary. We decided to turn back that day, I could sense her nervousness and wanted to keep the woods a happy place for us—a place for adventure and curiosity, not fear.

Ever since then, I think about this moment when we go into the woods. We go further now—she’s nearly seven, and we’ve been beyond that rock wall many times. It’s no longer a spot that makes her nervous, but she still has the same sense of wonder, and the adventures we have in those woods are still just as magical as they were the first few times we explored.

And as a writer, I try my hardest to go beyond simply noticing. I try to go beyond the bird calls, the chipmunk chatter, the rustling of leaves. I look for the magic—the rock with two perfectly heart shaped holes in it. The giant crater-like hole in the earth, the vines that climb up trees, inviting a treetop adventure, the mysteries and questions surrounding the rock walls that twist through the woods like ancient snakes frozen in time.

Because life, and writing, is about so much more than noticing. If we can imagine beyond what we can see, the magic and wonder is all right there in front of us. So do more than notice. Ask questions, wonder the what-ifs, find the magic in every day life, and try to do this all as if through the eyes of a child.

And if you ever need to ask yourself “have we gone too far?” know that you’re probably exactly where you’re supposed to be.