Sometimes routine gets the better of us, and between school, homework, and the hustle and bustle of the week, we forget that the simplest things are often what feed the soul the most. That is why last Saturday, a great friend and I made a decision that seemed small but turned out to be huge: we grabbed the kids and went to the Casino Campestre in CamagΓΌey.
The idea was simply to disconnect and let them feel the grass under their feet, to breathe that air that smells of old trees and wet earth. I wanted my daughter and her son to understand that nature is not just a screensaver, but a living space to which we belong.
Then, almost without planning it, the ponies appeared. Small, hairy, with a patient look that invited trust, and we did not think twice.
Ian David, my friendβs son, climbed on first because he is one of those children who experiences everything with his whole body. As soon as he mounted, his hands reached for the mane and his smile burst out. It was not a smile for a photo pose; it was the kind that starts in the stomach and blooms on the face. Next to him, my princess Geraldine, who is already 12 and sometimes thinks she is too old for such things, got on her pony with a dignity that broke my heart because it was so beautiful to see her. But as soon as the animal began to walk, her teenage armor fell away, and she became once again that girl who looks at the world with wonder.
Both of them, each at their own pace, started laughing with a clean, unfiltered laugh. Geraldine spoke to the pony in a low voice, as if it were her accomplice. Ian David, on the other hand, shouted excitedly every time the animal took another step. And I felt something I cannot pretend about: a huge peace.
That Saturday there were no screens, no rush, no schedules. There were only children on horses, a breeze moving the leaves, and two friends watching their kids bond with nature in the purest way.
They ended up happy, with rosy cheeks, pants stained with grass, and hair tousled by the wind, but with a happiness that showed in the shine of their eyes. Ian David kept repeating, "Again, again!" And Geraldine, as she got off, whispered to me, "Mommy, can we come back next Saturday?"
That is what remains, not expensive toys or perfect plans. What remains is the image of my 12 year old princess laughing on the back of a pony, as if time stood still, and the certainty that sometimes all you need is a couple of small horses, a couple of real friends, and the decision to give the children a moment of earth, open air, and sincere connection.
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