The Ghost Walk

This week's Gallery is Dads.
I have been walking this path since my brother was old enough to be trusted to take me up the hill.  

My father was always too ill to be able to get up it.  My mother and him would walk on the flat in the same direction as us, whilst we ran up and down the hills, climbing the rocks, racing to the stumps.









Dam building.

Racing ahead.

As I repeat the walks of my childhood, I can hear his voice "to the left branch, yes you can" and as I fell off "get up you daft bugger, there's nothing wrong with you."

I inherited my undersized sympathy gland from my father.

Sometimes we would all make it up to Old John.  He would slowly walk up backwards.  I think walking backwards kept him upright so he could get more air in his lungs.

On the way back he would talk about the deer and the stags and how to stay safe around them.

My brother and I would race back up the hill on the way back to the car and wave from the top to mum and dad on the path below.

I still see him on the path.