Little did I know when my Grandfather walked up to me in our back yard when I was very young and reached out with his hand closed and gave me a look to say 'Do you want to see what I've got?' that I would be the one who would finally finish-off what he could only try to imagine might possibly turn out to be.
As his fingers unfolded revealing what was laying "within", a twig sprang out then a leaf that had seen better days then some sort of tiny bug crawling along Grandfather's finger nail seeming to be trying to just move on and then his hand opened and there was a pile - well, I was so very young - of rich soil.
'Brimming with life.' Granddad would always say.
Mum would always bump his elbow or arm with her elbow or arm to try and make him spill whatever it was and it was mostly something - a random grab from the yard.
My dad died when I was young and so Granddad - I found out later that he was Mum's dad was always around and taught me - as far as I was concerned - everything.
My dad's dad too fell ill from swallowing something accidentally in the yard during a torrential storm which led to hospital which led to his death.
'Life, is so important.' Granddad would always say. He would show his arm raised with a branch; stick or some sort of stump protruding from his jacket sleeve as if on stage; being all melodramatic.
Mum would find a towel or cloth or something and toss it over it. We would all laugh.
He would fashion a length of branch found somewhere and use it to walk and when I followed him on these frequent journeys, we would end up at a creek or river bed.
The many twists and turns of the water trickling along through; gaining momentum and taking a grain or two of sand and or soil.
'Distribution of wealth; distribution of kind.' Granddad would say. 'Remember that.' We would walk on through the stream getting our legs wet; helping each other.
One day, looking for Granddad and seeing no sign, I went for a regular walk to one of Granddad's and mine and found his lengthy walking branch amongst tree roots bound to the shoreline of our local creek.
No matter how much I tried, I could not remove it and then I saw a peculiar knot twisted into a nearby root. It was gnarly and I'm sure I have never seen it before and I know this area well.
I went to take a closer look but my boot became stuck almost as if the tree and my Granddad's walking stick and would not allow me closer to this unusual looking knot.
I could hear the surrounds creaking; moaning as if reacting to a disturbance and then slowly, letting go of my sole.
Looking around and straight at where the knot was - it seemed to have gone.
I went over to where I had seen it and it was just a channel of bark.
The water flow had ceased. The water pooled to a mirror and what I saw was hard to believe.
My Granddad's reflection but no one standing there.
Don't ever think for a moment that humans don't want to escape.
It's just a matter of letting it happen.