Memories with my Dad

I remember when I was young, maybe 7 or 8, my Dad used to come down from Sydney, and we'd go to the harbour for a while. It wasn't always, but we'd always go when he came down to see me. My younger brother and I would climb the trees for hours. I remember the smooth branches, slender and worn from years of use and love. I remember there was a specific branch much like a seat. I remember it was high enough I could swing my legs underneath, and strong enough to gently bounce a small child like me, as I'd look out over the harbour.

As I got older, I'd still look at those trees and remember life as a child.

But now all I have are these memories. There are no photos. Only the ones I picture in my mind. And now, there won't be any more memories made. Those trees gave us shelter, a place to play, a memory. And now they're only memories.