Today would have been my father’s 90th birthday. Due to the date, he has been in and out of my mind all day, when I saw the prompt this week, I knew I had to write about him and so I crave your indulgence.
Word Count: 100
Happy Birthday Dad
Some weekends he would take off on his motorbike, heading for the Lake District and the hills he had roamed since boyhood. He knew the places untouched by tourism, and would lose himself in the majestic beauty of the scenery; whatever worries he took with him, vanished into the clean, fresh, air.
After the accident, his motorbike was sold. He was 58 and my mother judged him too old to be in charge of such a powerful machine.
He died at 67; we scattered his ashes into the wind on Scafell Pike.
I’m sure I heard him laughing.
I wrote more about my father here, I still miss him. http://40again.com/2010/06/20/thinking-about-my-father-today/