Peaks and valleys: how reconnecting with nature helped me with grief

William Searle was never able to show his daughter the magic of the New Forest. Moving to a remote Cornish valley gave him a much-needed new direction

As gulls rise above the valley they drift into the colours of the sun that is setting over the north Atlantic, a mile or so downriver from where I am standing. Their whiteness turns to pale red as they merge upward into a zone of sky where the colours are most intense. Then, with the smallest of wingbeats, they fly westwards towards the coast.

“Did you see the seagulls, Eli, did you see them?” I say to my four-year-old son who, only a moment ago, was at my side, but is now spinning in circles with a yellow bucket on his head. “Eli, Eli …” I say. But he doesn’t hear me (or chooses not to). Instead, he darts away towards the house, flinging the bucket down into a patch of long grass. I watch him go with the same keen interest as I had been watching the seagulls being painted red by the sun. Both, wonders.