My Dad was a tree. Tall, thin, strong. Bending in the breeze, while still holding firm with deep roots. Lengthening to heights, offering shelter to those underneath. With a deep voice like an Ent (we called him Treebeard quite often), he loved to tell stories, too, that went on and on.
Whenever I am exploring amongst the beauty of nature, especially on little hiking trails, I feel like Dad is walking along with me, as that is the type of place where he came alive the most and loved to spend time. He would have really enjoyed this little impromptu hike we did in Flåm, Norway, with the beauty of nature on all sides of us. Fresh, cool air and scenery that made you stare.
Today marks nine years without him, but I know he is always with me.
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