As a child, I remember going to the cliff with my dad. He would take me there on a Saturday morning to hike through the forests. I could look up through the treetops and see the sun glistening down from above, the rays peaking between the branches. I loved feeling the warmth on my face and the breeze blowing my hair in a whirl as I ran amongst the pines and birches.
Eventually, we would make our way to the cliff, where standing on the edge, we could look down at the rushing waters of the river below. Listening to the birds chirping, singing there songs of summer, made my heart glow. Sometimes my dad would tie the big rope to the tree and put the safety harness on me so I could repel down the cliff to sit at the waters edge. The view from here was spectacular, watching the water cascade over the rocks and down the slopes. I could have stayed there for days just seeing the beauty of the river.
Autumn was a perfect time to visit the cliff. What a beautiful sight to see, the leaves changing color and lazily drifting to the ground. Walking along the trails with the leaves crunching beneath our feet, flying up as we kicked and ran along was such a joy for my dad and me. I always felt that the trees looked lonely and forlorn with their bare branches pointing to the sky.
Then winter would slowly creep in and there were no more trips to the cliff. The snow was too deep to trudge through. We would have to wait for spring. A new beginning for the forest, as the buds slowly began to appear on the tree branches and the new leaves would begin to grow.
Maybe it’s time for a trip to the cliff and maybe, just maybe, I will feel my dad walking with me.