I grew up in the shadow of a castle.
The castle lumbered over our heads as we grew up. Occasionally we were able to tour it, we told scary stories about it and sneaked onto the grounds as teenagers. We passed the graveyard almost daily, always mindful of the ghost of the old woman that traipsed through the grounds searching for her dead son. We seldom saw the bats that lived in the belfry, but their presence was evident in the drippings which glowed white on the hard red sandstone of the outer walls.
The deep freezes that came with winter meant skeleton trees frozen with ice and sprinkled with snow that glistened against the cold and frigid blue sky. The castle was more foreboding during the winter when its shape was softened with foliage.
The castle stood on top of the highest hill and could be seen for miles and miles in every direction. Everyone knew of the castle, but not many knew anything about it. There was something timeless and reassuring in it's hard stone blocks.
In a future post I will tell you about the castle and introduce you to my son.