Deer come, from time to time, to our window. They do so unannounced and in silence. And these guys' silence is breathtaking. It's a kind of communal abundance. And very different from my own pointy, squinting sort. They stroll by my kitchen window, and I hear them: passing it between themselves like a packet of biscuits. Grazing on it along with the grass. The biscuit to their tea. It's a lovely ritual. Whenever I see them outside I try to pretend I'm just as busy with silence as they are. I pretend they've caught me at just the right time - because there's plenty going spare if they'd like me to pass them some through the window. And, of course, they always respectfully decline my offer. But, I don't mind. Like a true unfashionable parent, I think they're cool and I'll keep trying to fit in with them. In a way, I'm practicing. Leo's only 2. And he's cool. And I've always thought of our love for him as a kind of communal abundance.