LEGACY

The guy is a legend.

He sits in the corner, finger pressed to his face. His expression is lost amid the shrubbery of his beard, eyes concealed by dark glasses and glare. A peculiar intensity radiates from his gaze—he is at once kind, wise and unforgiving.

Always watching.

He’s everything I am and more—everything I wish I was.

The guy is a legend.

My Father.

My Hero.

I’m sitting in the airport, morbid, reflective, examining the past month of my existence, my time spent in New Zealand—backpacker, adventure seeker, writer, artist.

Legacy.

Has my dawn arrived?

I feel the slope of mountains rising beneath my feet. There is a sudden shadow pooling at my back. My fingers grip flesh and I am no longer young, chasing shadows, but casting my own strange light.

New Zealand sinks into the distance and Australia looms before me, a great unknown, filled with people and places and wonders—lessons and adventure.

I’ve been proud of you all my life, Dad

Thanks for the inspiration.