The red rocks gazed above us, pebbling down one at a time. It reminds me of my Dad, he was always hiking and hoping to live here at some point. My Dad was a kind soul but never had the chance to come, He was a carpenter, and my Mom died when I was born.

Rain Crashed down and the array of red pink and white turned dark. I danced along the slippery slopes, as my mother, ghostly flowed along with me, as if she was still here. Having Mom around was pleasant, even if she wasn’t here with me. My Dad thought it was eerie that I saw the ghosts, but I thought it was comforting. 

Only while engorged in the red mountains could I feel my mother present.

The rain dripped onto me, drip-drip-drip. The slippery rocks only made it more fun, skipping around, not a care in the world, suddenly, my dad slipped, sliding down with nothing but rocks to catch him. When he got up, he started limping.

¨I’m fine honey,¨ he grunted, ¨Don’t worry.¨ he couldn’t get on his leg, we were out, in the Mountains, no one near but us…