Many times, in dreams, I go back to a time long ago.
Memories of childhood. Running through the decrepit estate with the other kids. Walking the sewer pipe where it ran 20 feet off the ground. And the woods (we called it a forest, but we were only 7 then) and getting lost in the expanse and following the sun till we got out again.
I think that’s where my love of the open came from.
I remember in my early teens walking the highland ways, the glens and the mountains. Watching the ptarmigan and the deer. Tracking the wildcat and the fox. That’s where I learned to follow tracks. To tell one animal from another.
Later, I put those childhood skills to other purposes, but that is not the purpose of this story.
Day by day this country is being overrun by concrete. Soon there will be no fields, woodland or mountains for the kids to wander. Already it’s not really safe for them to do so alone.
Once the only danger was the weather. Now it’s the preverts.
I remember how free I was as a child. My kids were free too, but I suspect they may be the last generation to be so.
Freedom to run and play. Freedom to learn about the wild first hand is a blessing I had.
Sadly, that, in the main, is no more.