While the kids are away, the parents will play...

Some days feel like small gifts, and this one was exactly that.

A rare, child-free day. The kids happily off enjoying themselves with their favourite auntie — my sister — which meant my wife and I suddenly found ourselves with something that feels increasingly precious: uninterrupted time. So we did what we do best. We laced up our walking boots, packed the rucksack, and headed for the trails.

I’ve written before about how lucky I am to live where I do, surrounded by countryside that people travel miles to experience. For us, it’s all right there on the doorstep. No long drives, no elaborate planning — just step outside and go. This time, we planned a steady five-mile loop, familiar but always rewarding.

The rucksack was packed with the essentials: a thermos flask and enough coffee granules to ensure that no stranger we might meet would go uncaffeinated. Priorities. The temperature hovered just above freezing, so we wrapped up warm and cosy, bracing ourselves for crisp air and cold fingers.

Our route took us first into the Smilog Woods, where the trees stand tall and close, the kind of place that feels protective and quietly alive even in winter. From there, we joined the old drovers’ trail — a path shaped by history, once worn by livestock and traders, now by boots and wandering minds. It’s impossible not to feel a connection to the past when walking there, knowing others have passed the same way for centuries, each with their own stories and destinations.

Cariad Rock came next. Lovers’ Rock. A natural pause point, and one that seems fitting for a day like this. We lingered, took in the view, shared a coffee, and simply enjoyed being there together — no rush, no timetable beyond the gentle arc of daylight.

From Lover Lookout, the trail pulled us deeper into the forestry. The landscape changed subtly as we went, the paths quieter, the world narrowing to the crunch of boots on gravel and the steam rising from our mugs. These are the moments I value most — the easy conversation, the shared silences, the simple comfort of walking side by side.

Two hours later — excluding the all-important coffee breaks — we looped our way back home. Legs tired, faces cold-kissed, and spirits lifted.

It wasn’t an epic adventure or a far-flung escape. Just a walk. But it was time together, carved out of busy lives, in a place that continues to remind me how fortunate we are.

And honestly? I wouldn’t trade days like this for anything.