joy in small things
Daily Prompt
After a soul-satisfying Italian lunch at Fiume, my partner and I found ourselves drawn to something quieter than dessert—something slower than a second cup. We sought no destination that afternoon, only a soft landing. A gentle hour. And so we wandered, as one does when the body is full but the spirit still hungers for something. That something, we found in Smestow Valley Local Nature Reserve, nestled in Tettenhall like a secret that only silence knows how to keep.
There are places that arrive not with a grand entrance, but with a hush. Smestow is one of them. It doesn’t roar for your attention—it murmurs. It doesn’t impress; it invites. The path, dappled in gold from the late sun, welcomed us not with spectacle, but with character. The canal, a mirror to the trees, curved quietly as narrowboats rested along its edge like old friends who had nothing left to prove.
Each boat told a story—not in words, but in whimsy. One had a slumped teddy bear in a feathered hat, as if mid-contemplation. Another bore a rooftop garden wild with herbs and sunflowers, guarded not by gnomes, but by a full cast of rubber ducks dressed as queens, sailors, aviators, and pirates. It was absurd. And it was beautiful.
Spotted while walking after dinner…
A narrowboat dressed like a garden, a nursery, and a fairytale scene all in one.
Because beauty, I’ve come to learn, is not always polished or poised. Sometimes, it is delightfully odd. It is someone taking the time to decorate a canal boat not for Instagram, but for the quiet joy of doing so. It is a duck in a crown. A teddy bear with a past. It is someone’s rebellion against mundanity. And in that spirit, I realised something: this—this very walk—is a habit that brings me joy.
These walks feel like punctuation marks in long, heavy days
I don’t always speak about it, but taking unplanned walks after a meal, especially with someone I love, has quietly become one of the most grounding rituals in my life. It’s never scheduled. Never dramatic. Just motion, fresh air, and the simple act of noticing the world again. These walks feel like punctuation marks in long, heavy days. They help me return to myself—slowly, softly, without pressure to be anything but present.
Sometimes, the smallest actions are the most honest.
As we moved along the path, wildflowers bloomed like nature’s own embroidery. I stopped to photograph a thistle—its delicate seeds poised for flight, ready to surrender to the wind without hesitation. Not everything clings. Some things, like thistle seeds or old versions of ourselves, are meant to be carried away.
Further ahead, a bee hovered mid-air beside a violet bloom, wings a blur, purpose unwavering. There was something holy in its focus. No comparison, no noise—just quiet contribution. Watching it reminded me that not everything meaningful is seen. Sometimes, the smallest actions are the most honest.
The kind of strength you don’t always see, but always feel.
Soon, we passed beneath an old iron bridge, rusted and regal. It stood like an elder—worn but resolute. I thought of the people in our lives who are just like that: holding things up, asking for nothing in return, steady in their silence. The kind of strength you don’t always see, but always feel.
Cupcake Lane Tea Room
And just before turning homeward, we passed Cupcake Lane Tea Room. Closed, but charming. The sign alone felt like a smile. A reminder that sweetness still exists in the world—in names, in small shops, in things that wait for us.
Reflections from the Path
Joy doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes, it’s just a walk after lunch. Sometimes, it’s being with someone who understands your silence.
We are all boats with stories. Floating quietly or colourfully dressed—we carry more than we show. Be kind. Be curious.
Let go like the thistle. Some things are meant to drift away. Don’t chase them. Don’t mourn them. Let the wind do what it must.
Stillness is not a pause in life—it is life, slowed down to a livable rhythm. That’s where you find what you were too busy to feel.
📍 Smestow Valley Local Nature Reserve
A quiet cathedral of trees, boats, bees, and little echoes of humanity.
A place where joy wears boots, beauty hides in rubber ducks, and the world—just for a moment—remembers how to breathe.
superanjventures 
Leave a comment