Growing up, Sunday afternoons meant walks.
We followed many paths, many different paths on many different Sunday afternoons over the years.
With enough regularity to make it memorable my father would veer off into the undergrowth at seemingly random points on the walk, weaving through bushes and brambles, crossing rivers balancing like tightrope walkers on the fallen trunks of tree, or cutting a path of his own when things got tangled. All the time, respectfully aware that everywhere is somethings home.
Continue reading