It had been years since he last stood in this shed and now the death of his father has brought him back.

He hated it as a kid; it’s funny how time seems to let in a more balanced perspective.

He was suddenly flooded by his memories of all the good times he’d had. Hidings amongst the machinery, listening to the men go about their work telling stories of how they would make their fortunes in the big smoke.

Now he stood there as an adult.

He longed to hear his father’s voice calling him out into the open and scolding him for touching the machinery. He would have been angry as a child, but now realized his father was protecting him.

The sun streamed in through the gaps between the walls and the rafters, and he felt his father’s presence there. Everything about this old shed was his father, it was who he was, his work.

Paul sat down on the wooden boards of one of the machines to open the letter his father’s lawyer had given him. As he read it he cried for the first time as he read his fathers handwriting. He could hear his voice, and felt like that angry little boy again.

Hearing noises outside, he wiped his eyes and put the letter back in his jacket pocket. He could relive childhood moments later, right now he had to focus on the land agent who would be selling the property.

As he walked the agent around the property, he realized how much work would need to be done to prepare the place for sale. He would need to do it himself, or he would never afford it. He told the agent and suggested that they revisit the property in 1 month time when he would have completed the repairs.

As the land agent left, he felt exhausted and decided to stay in the old house for the night, rather than take the long drive back to Melbourne.

Paul entered the kitchen looking for something to eat, there were only left-overs from the funeral earlier that day, so he helped himself to the last unopened bottle of wine, found some bread and cheese and sat in front of the fire to contemplate the work ahead.

As he sat and ate, he remembered the old toolbox his father had given him for his 10th birthday and wondered if it his parents had kept it after he left. Hunting through the cupboards he found instead of his toolbox, an old photo album as he opened it a photograph fell out onto the floor in, he picked it up and his heart skipped a beat, there in the old black and white photograph was his father proudly holding him in his arms outside the house. He was just a small baby. He turned the photograph over and to his surprise found that it was the day he had been brought home from the hospital. Photographs of he and younger brother playing happily together, his mother, family holidays and Christmas’, they were all there, all those happy memories.