Quick

Quinn bounces at my heels, her leash trailing behind her. She’s grinning. She can’t wait for me to find my shoes. We’re going for a walk through the bush.

“Shall I come with you?” calls my husband Andy from the living room.

“That sounds good,” I answer as I slip my feet into my dust-covered sneakers. “Nora can come too. We can walk both dogs together.”

Soon, I’m marching down the middle of our road with Nora. Andy and Quinn are a step or two behind. When we get to the bush, Nora and I charge ahead, passing black burnt and bulldozed trees. We wade through the long grass alongside the playing fields before emerging on the main fire trail.

“It’ll be time for coffee when we get home,” I shout back over my shoulder.

“What’s that?” Andy yells. “I can’t hear you.”

I turn to face Andy and walk backwards for a few paces as I repeat, “Coffee. When we get home, shall I make some coffee?”

Without waiting for Andy’s answer, I face forward and stride on. Nora and I skirt the huge muddy puddle that’s claimed most of the lower track. We climb a short hill, stumbling over the loose stones. I can see the sports club building through the trees.

“Another lap?” I shout back to Andy.

Andy nods so we swing around the sports club and retrace our steps. Back down the stony hill, along the muddy bottom track, up the main fire trail, through the long grass alongside the playing fields. Down the bulldozed back burnt track. Then we’re on the road in sight of our house.

“All done!” I smile. “We’ve walked the dogs. Time for coffee!”

A few minutes later, I’m sitting alone on the sofa in the living room, my hands wrapped around my steaming mug. As I sip, I gaze out of the window at the blue, blue sky. A few fluffy clouds float by. The leaves on the trees lift in time to the breeze. It looks like a gorgeous day out there.

And then I think: Andy and I went for a walk and we forgot to look. At each other. At the beauty of the day.

Why are we always in such a hurry? Why do we try to be so quick?

Andy and I wander lazily along the track. Dappled sunshine falls upon our backs. We look around. We chat.

“Can you see the peeling bark?”

“Don’t those leaves look like tinsel wrapped around the trees?”

“Listen to that bird.”

“What do you think it is?”

Silence and then:

“What have you been doing?”

“How do you feel?”

“What do you think?”

“Tell me about your dreams.”

We linger in the shade while the dogs snuffle up the smells. Then we wander on. At the end of the track, we stop.

I swing around and say, “Do you want to gaze into my eyes? Do you love me?”

Andy grins. “You’re mad!”

I am. We are.

My love and I stroll home together. Up the slope. Along the track. Arm in arm, we take our time.

Love needs slow, not quick.