It’s the second last week of the summer holidays and yesterday we swam and swam, the water a pale green that deepened the further down we dived until it became the exact colour of grass. We went out again in the evening, just down from our house, slipping and sliding on steps slick with moss, and then diving straight in, the sun low in the sky and the colour of the water now a darkening blue.
The day before we got the ferry across the lake and caught a bus up into the hills. We walked through a tiny little village full of houses covered in flowers and Swiss flags, before descending into the forest and then under the freeway to a park with views of both ends of the Zurich lake, one end the city and the other end the mountains, and we ate our lunch while we watched sailboats dodging the ferries and zigzagging on the water like dragonflies.
And today? It’s raining, so there’s ping pong and piano and baking and reading and pizza for lunch, and my daughter licks the bowl from the chocolate cake while the cat demands dinner at least an hour before she usually gets it, and it still feels like the holidays because doing not much at all or a little bit of everything feels exactly right. (So take that, Phd…)